A Journey Apart
by Padawan Aneiki R'hyvar
Summary: Similar Cassia & Sio's MC tales. A mysterious threat against Aragorn leads to Legolas' disappearance and assumed death. Family and friends of both must unravel the mystery before one, or both, are lost forever.
1. Prologue

A Journey Apart

PROLOGUE

_What shall I say, to thee, my friend?_

_Too swift, we come to journey's end._

_Will we part, again to meet?_

_I find this pathway bittersweet._

_What shall I say, when thou art gone?_

_When stars are veiled and lost is song?_

_Rest, I'll bid thee in hidden dreams._

_While I, alone, travel paths unseen_.

Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, gazed upon Rivendell from a distance, his horse bearing him swiftly and nimbly toward the Elven refuge of Imladris; and he knew a deep pain in his heart. The same pain that had lodged there just days ago upon receiving the summons in familiar handwriting: _Estel is gravely ill; come quickly for he speaks of you_. He had departed for Rivendell immediately, barely taking the time to inform his father of his plans and refusing to wait for an escort.

_Estel is gravely ill_. No doubt, the handwriting had been Elrohir's; the younger twin son of Lord Elrond ever sensitive to such things. Elrond himself was likely too wrapped up in tending to his adopted son's illness to think of such a message. As it should be, Legolas nodded to himself.

Another soft rending of his heart took place as considered that point; Elrond was a highly skilled healer and if Elrohir would report such a dire message, it could only mean that the Elf Lord himself was unsure of the outcome of his efforts.

Urging his steed onward, Legolas hoped he would reach Imladris by nightfall, and that would be well. A large thunderhead seemed to be billowing up on the horizon and the air was close with the smell of rain. Arriving ahead of the storm would certainly be preferable to the alternative—riding a soggy horse, clad in soggy clothing and weighted by a sorrow already heavy enough.

Despite his worries for Estel, the Silvan elf smiled a little, remembering his last damp and dreary ride. That too had been a return to Rivendell, with Estel at his side, a long, drizzly, grumpy ride through rain that had held off until the very last leg of their journey, and nearly dashed their hopes of arriving relatively unscathed for once from one of their hunting trips. There had been little said for returning looking like a pair of drowned rats but at least, it had been noted, they had arrived without one of them lying at death's door.

_Ai, Valar spare his life_. Legolas found himself begging silently. _He is the hope of Men_... The blonde elf's lips twitched into another gentle smile. "...and of Elves." He murmured softly to himself, as another recollection came to the fore of his thoughts. Quiet conversation between friends about certainties and uncertainties, things to be written in the future and things already scribed in the past.

* * *

_Aragorn watched through somewhat heavy-lidded eyes as Legolas tossed more wood upon the fire, and he sighed contentedly as he tipped his head back upon the bole of the tree against which he sat. Above them, the stars shone brightly, a rare thing in these days of darkness, and his lips twitched into a smile._

"_What song do they sing tonight, mellon nin?" The human asked lightly, still gazing upward._

_Legolas stirred the embers beneath the newly added wood with a stick, and then threw the stick upon the fire as the flames licked higher. He turned sapphire eyes up to the sky himself and smiled as well._

"_Tonight I have in mind the tale of Varda and the First Song." The Silvan elf now looked at his companion, to see if that would suit, and Aragorn nodded his agreement. A moment later, the elf's light, throaty tenor rose into the air between them, singing the song that both of them had learned in their younger days. Although, Legolas had to remember with a smile, that his younger days were far longer ago than those of the ranger who now lifted his own voice in harmony._

_It was an agreeable way to spend a late summer's eve; camping on the outskirts of Rivendell on the way back from errands run for Lord Elrond, Aragorn's elven foster father. The weather had been kind to them, and there had been plenty of easy game for the hunting and now they were close to completing their journey._

"_Do you think Ada did it on purpose?" Aragorn's voice suddenly interrupted the singing and Legolas opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and regarded his human companion curiously._

"_Did what, Estel?" He prompted with a slightly puzzled frown, shifting now to sit cross-legged by the firelight. Aragorn's head was tipped upward again, stargazing._

"_That." He said, glancing briefly at Legolas before looking back up. "Estel…my name." Estel, of course being the word for 'Hope' in the language of the Noldorin, and the archer grinned._

"_I've never known Lord Elrond to do anything without a purpose, mellon nin."_

"_That's not what I meant." Aragorn moved now to lie on his back, tucking his hands behind his head to better gaze upon the night sky. "Did he really think that it would make a difference?" There was a softer, more concerned expression on Legolas' face now, and he nodded slowly even though his friend was not looking at him._

"_Yes, he did." He said softly. He'd guessed during the journey that despite the lightheartedness of the young human that there were weightier issues going on in Estel's mind, and he had simply waited patiently, knowing that eventually Estel would speak of them. "He knew that this day would come, when you would have to be told all." Legolas continued to speak quietly. "He knew that you would have to know he always believed, even when you have not, that your destiny is something greater than all of us."_

"_I'm not greater than anybody." Aragorn shot back just as quietly. "How can I be this hope he speaks of? There is naught but weakness in these veins…Isildur's heir or not, I don't have what it takes to be this great king of Men that Ada describes."_

_The burden was fresh, Legolas knew; the conversation between Lord Elrond and his adopted son having taken place only a few days before the archer had arrived in Imladris for a visit, and it had not been an easy one from what little Aragorn had said up to this point._

"_You were born to something better than Isildur himself." Legolas said firmly, and Aragorn _did _look at the elf now, uncertainty written in his expression._

"_You speak like you know this for a fact." The human said thoughtfully, and the smile returned to Legolas' features._

"_I do." Legolas nodded. "I may not have the gift of foresight like your Adar, and I don't pretend that it will be an easy path, mellon nin. But I see strength in you that will not easily lay down to the temptations of the evil you will face."_

"_Even the temptation to flee?" Aragorn's lips had curved into a sardonic smile. "I mean to set out for the Dúnedain encampment to the North in a fortnight." There must have been something of a shocked look on the blonde elf's face, for the human's smile drew into a deeper grin. "Fear not, mellon nin, I do not intend to forget you, or my home in Rivendell. I just…I do not know if this power is one I wish to take up."_

"_Whether you accept your destiny, or it accepts you, is not for me to say." Legolas finally replied, but there was still firm resolve in his voice. "It is only mine to say that I will not abandon you, gwador nin, but your fate shall be mine. I would follow you anywhere, for I believe your name is true. Hope you are called and hope you will be_."

* * *

Hope…it was the one thing driving Legolas on now, as he approached Imladris with all haste. Tipping his head up, he gauged the speed of the oncoming storm and was now beginning to wonder if he _would_ beat it; it seemed to have gained some strength during his daydreaming. Pursing his lips tightly, he hunched his shoulders against the strengthening winds and put his head down, blonde hair whipping around his face. _Hold on, Estel, I am coming_. 


	2. Fever Dreams

ONE

Fever Dreams

_May thy heart hear me, friend._

_Upon this unknown path, we tread._

_In the watches dark and deep._

_Made a promise I now must keep._

_Hope I must for the light we seek._

_Beg thee hear the words I speak._

_Cry aloud and spare me pain._

_For thou art gone and I shall wane_.

Rain spattered hard against the windows, a rhythm all its own, and the wind howled mournfully through the trees. Lightning punctuated the storm, followed by the hard crash of thunder. Elrohir Peredhel stood at the window unflinchingly, despite his usual dislike of such storms and watched the water pouring down the windowpane with slightly unfocused eyes, his thoughts wandering.

A soft moan behind him caught his sharp elven hearing more firmly than any thunderclap outside, and instantly Elrohir left the window, swiftly returning to the lone occupied bed in the healing rooms of Imladris. Settling down on the edge of the bed, he placed an affectionate hand along the pale face of the bed's human occupant.

"Shh, Estel." He said softly, consolingly. "It is merely a thunderstorm." He wasn't even sure if Aragorn was aware of his surroundings, the human having fallen to fitful dreams some while ago. Quietly he removed the folded cloth from the ailing human's forehead and dipped it again in a nearby basin of cool water. Gently he sponged the damp cloth along Aragorn's forehead and face, flushed with fever and somewhat tight with pain. Elrohir worked quietly and steadily, seeking to lower his foster brother's overly high temperature.

"Are you ready for a break, 'Ro?" Elrohir didn't have to look up to know it was his twin, Elladan, speaking, and he shook his head slightly as he now moved to run the cooling cloth along the human's throat. "Ada says you should rest awhile; you've been at it for hours now."

"The fever isn't breaking." Elrohir replied anxiously, sparing his brother a glance now as Elladan crossed the room toward him. "I don't understand…" His voice dropped to a pained whisper. Elladan, older by some minutes, placed a steadying hand upon Elrohir's shoulder.

"Neither does Ada." He answered; his own voice tense. Their father had been poring over his healers' texts in a desperate search to discover what was ailing the young ranger and further, what might be done to aid him. It was rare that a healer of Elrond's skill should be so uncertain in his efforts, and that alone frightened Elladan. "He's still in his study."

"I sent word to Mirkwood." Elrohir said suddenly. He turned his head to look up at Elladan, whose brows lifted curiously. "Legolas should be here, El." The younger Peredhel insisted. "They are also _gwador_…bound stronger than blood. And you know as well as I do that should we lose Estel to the Halls of Mandos that Legolas would never forgive us for keeping it from him."

Elladan nodded slowly, knowing his brother's words to be true, and he glanced out. "If he is traveling tonight, it will be a very wet journey indeed." Rain still beat a ragged tattoo upon the windowpanes and thunder rolled along overhead. The elder twin swallowed tightly. "You'd better hope he gets here in one piece, 'Ro or else when Estel recovers you'll be sorry." He offered his brother a slight smile, hoping to get one in return, but Elrohir had returned to the task of sponging down their foster brother's feverish face.

Another soft moan drew both twins' attention, and Elladan knelt down beside his brother, reaching out and placing a hand upon Aragorn's forearm, a gentle point of contact. The ill ranger turned his head restlessly beneath Elrohir's touch, and the elf leaned closer, murmuring soft reassurances as he continued to work the cooling cloth along the hot skin.

"Shh…Estel…_no na sîdh, saes…boe idh le…saes, idh si_." _Be at peace, please…you need rest, please rest now_. The soft Elvish whispers seemed to have the desired calming effect as Aragorn ceased his restless movement, and Elrohir placed his palm affectionately against the human's forehead.

"How is he faring, ion nin?"

Elrond's weary voice from the doorway prompted both twins to look up as one.

"He's having more fever-dreams, Ada." Elrohir replied softly, and Elrond recognized the distressed tone in his son's voice. Of his twin sons, Elrohir was the thinker and more sensitive of the two, disliking any to fall to pain or distress. Elladan was a little more practical in his mannerism, but from the time Aragorn had come to Imladris as Elrond's foster son, the older twin had been incredibly protective and softhearted toward his mortal brother.

"You've done well to sit with him so long, Elrohir; you should take some rest now." Elrond crossed the room and placed a hand upon his sons' shoulders. "I will stay with him for a time."

"Have you found something, Ada?" Elladan asked, hoping that his father's intention of staying in the room meant that Elrond had found some combination of medicines that would aid his human brother. His expression fell a moment later as Elrond shook his head slowly.

"Nay, not yet." He said quietly, his tone betraying the underlying anxiety over Aragorn's condition. "I wanted to sit with him awhile, see how he is faring." The Elf Lord smiled faintly at both his sons. "Make you both go downstairs and get something to eat. Neither of you will be able to help Estel if you're not taking care of yourselves."

The Peredhil twins were, as one, reluctant and Elrond simply raised his eyebrows.

"Ada…" Elrohir tried to protest first, but the Elf Lord simply shook his head. The younger twin sighed softly, knowing his father was more than correct but rather hesitant to leave the Healing Room. At last, he felt the hand of his brother upon his other shoulder.

"C'mon, 'Ro." Elladan murmured softly. "Let's go." There would be no arguing with their father on this point—or any other, for that matter—while Estel remained in mortal danger. Finally, the two departed, and Elrond exhaled slowly as he turned his attention to the desperately ill Aragorn, who had inexplicably collapsed upon returning from a journey to the northern border of Rivendell.

"Ion nin…" _My son_. Elrond breathed out softly, shaking his head a little. "What is this evil that has befallen you?" He reached over to pull the blanket up just a bit more upon Aragorn's chest; despite burning with fever, the ailing young man shivered with chills.

"_Ada?_" Aragorn's eyes opened slightly, and the ill human closed them again almost immediately; even though it was late in the day there was far too much light for his aching head to tolerate.

"Im si, Estel." _I'm here, Estel_. Elrond replied gently, brushing the back of his hand along his mortal son's cheekbone, testing the feverish heat that burned through pale skin. Aragorn swallowed weakly, turning his head a little, drawing a slight frown from the Elf Lord. "Cared sen naegra le?" _Does this pain you_?

"_No_…" Aragorn whispered but it was clear from the wince that crossed his features that the headache, which had plagued him from the beginnings of this illness, had worsened.

"Tell me the truth, ion nin." Elrond said gently, but firmly. The blue-grey eyes opened just a little once again, and he could see the pain written in them. Touching Aragorn's shoulder lightly in reassurance Elrond murmured, "Lie still, Estel. I'll be right back." Rising, the Elf Lord proceeded to an herb table, crushed a handful of a certain leaf very finely, and added it to a cupful of water. Returning to his son's sickbed, he gently slipped a hand behind Aragorn's head and placed the cup to his lips. "Drink this…it will soothe the headache and help you sleep again."

Aragorn winced at the pain involved his foster father's touch, but swallowed obediently at the medicine until he had finished most of it. Elrond nodded approvingly and eased him back onto the pillow as gently as possible.

"_Tastes…awful_." Aragorn smiled faintly. He felt terrible, to be honest but his sense of humor remained. Elrond returned Aragorn's smile with one of his own, and settled down again beside his foster son.

"It cannot be as miserable as you make it out to be." Elrond replied in the same vein of gentle humor. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"_Barely_." Aragorn shot back, and closed his eyes again with a soft groan. Elrond's smile faded as he drew in a slow, anxious breath. Gathering up the young man's hand within both of his own, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Don't fight the medicine… Go to sleep." Elrond instructed, and Aragorn did not reopen his eyes, but simply squeezed Elrond's hand briefly in reply. A short time later, the ill human's breathing slowed and deepened as sleep overtook him.

"Lord Elrond?" A quiet voice spoke from the doorway, and Elrond looked up to see a tall elf standing there, a tray in his hands. "Your sons made certain that you would receive the same good advice that you gave them." Elrond shook his head slowly, a mild amusement upon his features as the blonde elf stepped further into the room.

"Are you certain this was my sons' idea, Glorfindel?" He answered quietly, so as not to disturb Aragorn's slumber. "Or are you simply fussing over me?"

"I'd say perhaps partly the former and mostly the latter." The tall balrog-slayer replied, also speaking softly so that he did not awaken Aragorn. Placing the tray down on a nearby table, Glorfindel glanced at the motionless, pale human. "How is he?"

"The pain is worsening." Elrond replied, heavy-hearted. "The fever refuses to break. I have never seen anything of its like. Nothing I have tried so far has been of aid."

"In its stubbornness, my first thought would be poison." Glorfindel mused, and Elrond looked up.

"That was my thought as well, but so far I have not been able to discover what poison this might be that would affect him so." He moved to rewet the cooling cloth in the basin, the soft trickle of water as he wrung the cloth out the only sound for a few moments. Replacing the dampened fabric over Aragorn's forehead, he looked up at Glorfindel sadly.

"Come…eat something." Glorfindel prompted, motioning to the nearby tray. "As I am certain you told your sons, you will do Estel little good if you do not care for your own needs as well."

Elrond exhaled slowly; eating did not sound like a pleasurable idea at the moment, his mind and body too agitated. Except for the occasion of battle wounds, he had never seen Aragorn so weakened by simple illness before. Even the few times the human had suffered through bouts of pneumonia were not as difficult as this, although they had been difficult enough. The Elf Lord placed his palm gently upon Aragorn's shoulder briefly before rising and joining his seneschal.

Truly, Glorfindel understood his Lord's needs as the meal provided was light but enough to sustain his energy in this fight for Aragorn's life. Elrond glanced over the tray's contents briefly before looking to Glorfindel with a faint smile.

"Hannon le." He said with honest gratitude, and Glorfindel nodded once, a small smile upon his face. Elrond reluctantly began to eat under his seneschal's concerned gaze, all the while paying close attention to the sleeping human. His fingers trembled a little bit as he picked up a slice of apple, and he glanced at the balrog-slayer. Glorfindel gave no indication of noticing the slight tremor, but Elrond felt compelled to explain anyway. "I fear for him, Glorfindel." He finally admitted. "I fear I will fail him."

"You have never failed Estel." Glorfindel said softly. "If he is truly to be all that he was born to be…" The balrog-slayer inclined his head slightly. "…then the Valar will spare him and have mercy on him."

"You are so much calmer than I feel at this moment." Elrond admitted, which was a very rare thing for the Elf Lord indeed. "Are you so certain, Glorfindel?"

"Nothing is certain." The blonde seneschal said with a small shrug. "Except faith. I have much faith that Estel was born for more than this. He has survived often when he should not. And, I think, you judge yourself too harshly, my Lord." The title allowed it to be rebuke with respect, and Elrond simply raised an eyebrow at his seneschal before biting into the slice of fruit. "However," Glorfindel continued gently, "The worry of a father is a thing not easily cured."

As if to support that statement, a soft moan from the sickbed drew Elrond's immediate attention, the Elf Lord leaving aside the tray to return to Aragorn's side. The young ranger turned his head restlessly, calling out in a muddled mixture of the common tongue and Elvish, before falling to a soft groaning.

"Estel…" Elrond touched the young man's shoulder very gently, hoping to call his mind away from the distressed, fevered dreams. "Ion nin…lasto na beth nin." _My son…listen to my voice_. "Gosta al duath; Im si ben le." _Fear no darkness; I'm here with you_. Aragorn moaned again, turning his head and crying out,

"_Adel le! Legolas, tiro adel le!_" _Behind you! Legolas, look behind you!_ As if to snatch his friend away from imagined terrors, Aragorn's hand flung outward, and Elrond caught at it gently, pressing it soothingly between both of his own palms.

"Shh, Estel, avaro naeth." _Shh, Estel, don't worry_. Elrond brushed aside a wayward lock of dark hair from the ranger's face. "Al coth faro Legolas. Im ber, ho maer." _No enemy hunts Legolas. I promise, he is well_.

Glorfindel watched, heavy-hearted, as Aragorn's delirious murmurings continued and the Elf Lord at his side tended to him with great care and gentleness. Thunder and lightning crashed through the sky and if possible, it sounded as if the rain was falling _harder_, driving into the windows with a sudden gust of wind. It was late for such a summer downpour, although the season had not yet turned there were some early colors visible in the trees.

Rising anxiously, unable to offer aid and yet unwilling to leave, Glorfindel wandered across the room to the window Elrohir had been gazing through earlier. As the younger elf had done, he watched the storm spend itself in wind and rain over Imladris. Thunder rumbled loudly, lightning flared, and Glorfindel sighed softly. It was as if Arda herself echoed the difficulty visited upon Isildur's heir, and for reasons unknown the seneschal found that slightly disturbing.

Not that this was the first vigil ever held in this room over the young ranger, by any means. Glorfindel shook his head to himself just slightly as his mind recalled other mishaps and misfortunes, from simple illnesses in Aragorn's childhood to poisoned Orc arrows and broken bones gained in battle. It was no small wonder in these recent years that Aragorn had survived at all, let alone retained the anonymity his true heritage demanded for now.

The balrog-slayer's sharp gaze flicked from the fearful storm to the fearful restlessness yet again seizing Aragorn, the ill human thrashing weakly against the terror infesting his dreams. Crossing the room in swift steps, Glorfindel knelt near Aragorn and pressed down gently against the ranger's shoulders, steadying him while Elrond spoke softly, rapidly, trying to soothe the feverish fears as Aragorn cried out, this time for the twins. Glorfindel raised his gaze to the Elf Lord, as Elrond placed his palms gently at either side of Aragorn's face, trying to break through the delirious panic driving his adopted son.

"Whatever this is," Glorfindel observed very quietly, "It tears at his mind as well as his body." As the illness had progressed, so too had Aragorn's terrors, the nightmares becoming more frequent and distressed. Elrond looked up sharply at his seneschal, his gaze piercing and yet…defeated at the same time.

"I know." Elrond finally replied, his shoulders dipping a bit in exhaustion. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but the evidence was plainly in front of him that Aragorn was being torn from them totally, mind body…and possibly spirit but the Elf Lord wasn't ready to totally concede to that one just yet. Elrond closed his eyes just briefly before beginning again to speak soft reassurances to his son. "_Shh, Estel, saes…baw pedo. Iston gosta an gwedeir lin…estelio nin, Elladan a Elrohir garannen al tarias_." _Shh, Estel, please…don't speak. I know you fear for your brothers…trust me, Elladan and Elrohir have no difficulty_.

Slowly the words began to sink past the haze of fever, pain and panic, and Aragorn's restless cries tapered off, his body sinking weakly back into the pillows with no further resistance against Glorfindel's hands. His head turned toward his adopted father, as if seeking him out, although the blue-grey eyes did not open. Elrond slipped his hand from beneath Aragorn's face, the fingers of his other hand gently brushing aside wayward strands of dark hair from the exposed cheek. "_Ai, Valar…berio elei tin…berio Estel nin_." _Ai, Valar…protect his dreams…protect my Hope_.

Lifting his hands gently from Aragorn's now stilled frame, Glorfindel reached over and rested long fingers upon Elrond's shoulder in a gesture of compassion.

"He is your son, my Lord." The seneschal said softly. "But remember, he is the Hope of us all."

* * *

Legolas put his head down and gave up trying to keep his cloak wrapped tightly enough to keep out the foul weather beating down upon him. The wind swept over him and tossed tree branches with the force of a driving whip, stealing his breath a little. Despite the fact that it would have been safer to shelter and wait out the storm, Legolas could not bring himself to do so, terrifyingly aware that time might be against him if Aragorn was as badly off as he suspected.

Lightning flared, bringing the mountain pass into sharp relief, and he gently urged his mount forward. The animal was beginning to display its tiredness, its pace having slowed considerably as they fought their way upward against the wicked wind and rainstorm. Both horse and rider were spattered with mud, thoroughly soaked, and rather miserable looking. Blonde hair plastered to his forehead, face and neck, clothes clinging just as irritatingly, Legolas knew he must be a sorry sight indeed. However, he would allow himself no rest until he saw what shape Estel was in, with his own eyes.

The horse began the ascent into the pass that led up to Imladris, a slow sort of trudging that Legolas himself might have done if he were on foot, despite wanting to hurry. The wind and rain lashed them unmercifully and the wood elf had to admit that he had not seen such a strong storm in many, many years. He would be more than grateful to set foot inside the welcoming surrounds of Lord Elrond's home; from the time he and Estel had forged their friendship, the Peredhil family had never failed to welcome Legolas among them or accept him as readily as they had accepted Estel himself. And, merciful Valar, there certainly had been enough opportunities for Legolas to become well acquainted with Lord Elrond's healing skills, returning here with Estel, one or the other or sometimes both of them half-dead after whatever trouble they had found for themselves.

"_Ai, Elbereth, what have you done to my son now?"_

_Legolas had frozen to the spot for a brief moment, before he realized that Elrond was jesting. Turning his attention back to the horse he led, the Silvan elf aided Aragorn from its back. His human friend slid off the horse and grasped hold of Legolas tightly, bearing no weight upon his right leg._

"_I'm all right, Ada." Aragorn protested slightly, despite the fact that he was leaning heavily on the Silvan archer. "Legolas hasn't killed me and neither of us are in danger of traveling to the Halls of Mandos."_

_Elrond had drawn near, an amused, affectionate, and yet…somehow slightly annoyed look upon his face all at once, and Legolas had to admit he was unsure which would rule the day._

"_Ion nin…Can I not send you out and receive you back in one piece just once?" Elrond chided lightly, but then the brief ire was replaced by fatherly concern. "What happened, Legolas?" He questioned the archer._

"_Nothing significant, my Lord Elrond." Legolas had replied lightly, glancing at his friend with some amusement of his own. "Just a band of Orcs, a hunting trap and Estel being Estel." As suspected, that was explanation enough, and the Elf Lord had at last smiled, even as Legolas turned somewhat serious and finished, "Estel has wrenched his knee badly."_

"_Oh, well as long as it was nothing significant. Come. Up to the Healing Rooms and we shall tend to that knee_."

Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, and Legolas snapped back to reality. It would be no good; he chided himself firmly, to live in the past when Estel would need his entire mind in the present. The Silvan archer trembled miserably; he knew that such thinking would only hasten his friend's departure in his mind, and that definitely would do no good for either of them.

There was an unexpected—and very welcome—break in the storm, almost as if the skies were taking in a deep, long breath preparatory to unleashing another barrage, and Legolas lifted his head, pushing blonde hair out of his eyes. At last, it was within sight. Imladris. A grim determination seemed to settle over the slender elf as he very gently touched his heel to his tired mount's flank, prompting the horse to pick up its pace just a bit.

"_Al haeron si, mellon nin, al anann_." _Not far now, my friend, not long_. Legolas promised as he leaned down to pat the horse's neck affectionately.

* * *

Night was beginning to descend upon Rivendell, its black cloak slowly starting to envelop the already darkened storm clouds, but even it could not disguise the lightning display that continued to arc across the sky. Elladan and Elrohir slipped quietly into healing room, their obedience to their father completed in a hastily eaten meal and a few minutes' quiet conversation to pass for a bit of "rest." Of course, the conversation had centered on Estel, his scouting journey to the north that had doubled as a visit to the Dúnedain, his return nearly a week later than planned and finally around the unexplained illness that had so swiftly claimed him.

Neither twin was very surprised to see that Glorfindel had stayed, nor that the food taken to their father remained mostly untouched. What did startle them both, nearly from their skins, was the sudden anguished cry that broke from their brother's lips in what could only be described as sheer terror. Elrond, however had begun to expect the strange terrors, fueled by the mysterious fever, and the Elf Lord moved swiftly to his youngest son's bedside.

"_Ada!_" Aragorn called out fearfully, pushing upward against Glorfindel's hands as the seneschal again worked to keep the human's panicked motions to a minimum, allowing Elrond to attempt to guide the delirious, fevered mind away from the blackness pressing, it seemed, ever harder upon it. "_Take your hands off him!_"

Elrohir and Elladan's expressions mirrored each other's shock as Aragorn's terrified cries alternately warned of danger and begged for mercy—this time for their father. Whatever the evil dealt to Elrond in Aragorn's dreams, it was enough to drive the young ranger to cry out repeatedly despite the Elf Lord's voice speaking practically into his ear, trying to draw him back to reality. Elrond patiently stroked the cooling cloth along Aragorn's forehead and face, all the while talking to him in the grey tongue, reassuring and pleading for him to come out from the dreamworld and return to them. Several tense moments passed before Elrond's voice finally seemed to penetrate the deepening darkness and Aragorn fell limply against the pillows.

"Ada…" Elladan spoke first, choking back the lump in his throat.

"What is happening to Estel?" Elrohir finished his brother's sentence, and Elrond paused in his ministrations to spare the twins a tense, worried look.

"I do not know." Elrond's heartbroken answer was enough to bring tears to the twins' eyes. Elladan immediately moved, coming to stand next to his father in silent support. Aragorn was quiet again, the soft rasp of his breathing the only indication of continued agitation, but for the moment, his mortal brother was calm, and Elladan shook his head slightly.

Elrohir, however, did not come close to Aragorn's sickbed but instead crossed the room back to those same windows, placing a palm against the quite cool pane, the rain having paused its rush. Droplets fell from the eaves and it was still quite windy although that seemed to have died down considerably, a few leaves skittering down the windowpane in its wake. It was not the raindrops, however or the leaves that seized Elrohir's attention in the deepening shadows of late dusk, but rather a lone, bedraggled horse coming to a weary stop in the courtyard below. The younger Peredhel grinned in foolish relief at the sight of the familiar rider.

"Ada." He turned from the window, his eyes finding Elladan even though he spoke to his father. "Legolas is here."


	3. Darkening Night

TWO

Darkening Night

_Night has fallen dark and dense._

_The road goes on; I care not whence._

_I wander alone among the thorn._

_Captive, lost and heart forlorn._

_Broken upon the hardened ground._

_I seek the home I once had found._

_Lead me back, I hope and pray._

_Leave me not and let me stay_.

The storm had resumed much of its fury, lashing tree limbs and sheeting rain against the windows by the time Legolas found his way to the Healing Room. Met by Elrohir and Glorfindel, the young prince had turned his weary horse over to a stable hand and followed them indoors. Having taken very little time to provision for the posthaste journey to Rivendell, and caught by the sudden storm, Legolas was very grateful when Elrohir supplied him with a change of clothing and what few answers there were to his questions about Estel.

Now, as he slipped quietly in behind Elrohir, Legolas felt his stomach tighten anxiously as he took in the sight within the Healing Room. Aragorn drew his attention instantly; the human's feverishly flushed cheeks underlain by an unnatural pallor that made the archer swallow convulsively. Lord Elrond remained sitting with his son, gently working with the cooling cloth. Seated where Glorfindel had been earlier at the head of Aragorn's bed, Elladan offered the Silvan prince a faint smile of welcome but said nothing.

"Mae govannen, Legolas." Elrond said simply as he looked up at the archer who stood with his head slightly bowed in respect but whose sapphire gaze had not left the face of his friend. Coming closer now, Legolas nodded a bit. "I should have known my sons would send for you." The statement normally would have carried a note of amusement in it, but given the circumstances and the Elf Lord's growing worry, it sounded rather tired and flat.

"Hannon le, hir nin." Legolas responded quietly. "I came as quickly as I could, as soon as Elrohir's message arrived to me." The archer bowed his head a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid in my haste I rather left your messenger behind, Lord Elrond. He'll arrive with the escort my father wished to send with me, quite likely." A slight smile dared to flicker on the younger elf's features. "I rather left them behind as well."

"I see that's not the only thing you've left behind." Elladan joked lightly, reaching over to tug the sleeve of the tunic his twin had provided the Silvan elf. "Noldorin red isn't exactly your color."

"Perhaps not," Legolas agreed slowly, coming alongside the bed now, kneeling next to his friend. "But after that downpour, were our places exchanged, I think even you would consent to wearing Silvan green." That drew a gentle, albeit tired, chuckle from the older twin, and Elladan shifted to place a hand upon Legolas' shoulder.

"Mae govannen, mellon nin. I'm glad you're here." Elladan said earnestly. Legolas barely heard the words as his attention had completely shifted to the motionless form within the bed, his fingers instinctively seeking out Aragorn's other hand and wrapping protectively around it. Despite hoping otherwise, there was no response to his touch, and Legolas frowned anxiously at the amount of heat he felt from his human friend's hand. The Silvan elf felt his eyes mist a bit, as he gazed upon the still features, and thought for a brief moment that the lump forming in his throat would choke him.

"Has he been awake much?" Legolas asked tremulously, his eyes not leaving the face of his human friend.

"Occasionally." Elrond replied with a small nod. "When the fever hasn't been too high to allow it." The Elf Lord reached up to rub his eyes as casually as he could, trying to stave off the exhaustion he felt nipping at him.

"Ada…?" Elrohir was beside his father in an instant, one hand upon Elrond's shoulder. The Elf Lord offered the younger twin a wan smile.

"I'm all right." Elrond reassured, reaching up to touch the hand on his shoulder. "I've lingered here too long, however. If anything changes or there is other need of me, I will be in my study." He leaned down and brushed his fingertips affectionately along Aragorn's fever-flushed cheek. "I'll be back soon, ion nin."

The Elf Lord stood reluctantly, charging the three younger elves to stay with Aragorn; not that any such instruction needed giving, before striding quickly from the room. The determined line of his face was one that the twins were well acquainted with; Elrond would find an answer for his son or fairly die trying.

_Is the answer even here in Rivendell at all_?

The thought passed through Legolas' mind briefly, but he hadn't the chance to pursue it, or even speak it aloud, before Elrohir was placing the basin of cool water within the Silvan elf's reach and the cooling cloth into his free hand. Legolas looked up at the younger twin, who smiled a bit.

"I know you'd rather help him than to just sit waiting."

Legolas returned the smile slightly, nodding in agreement. He would do anything to bring some relief to his closest friend. Releasing his grip upon Aragorn's hand, the blonde archer dampened the cloth in the basin. Very gently, he turned the ranger's face toward him with his fingertips, and took up the task of trying to control the fever ravaging the ill human. Long minutes passed in relative quiet as Legolas worked, longing to see some flicker of response that would tell him that Aragorn would be all right. Valar, he had to be all right! Legolas shoved the thought of losing Estel away from his mind, unwilling to consider it.

Beneath the archer's careful touch, Aragorn abruptly stirred, just slightly, a faint moan slipping from cracked lips, and Legolas paused in his motion, leaning closer.

"Estel…" He whispered worriedly. "Estel, ceri le lasto nin...?" _Do you hear me_…?

The sudden outcry that answered him startled Legolas, its strength more than he would have thought possible from Aragorn in his current condition. Equally startling was the fear that seemed to drive it as the young ranger twisted away from Legolas' touch, as if it burned.

"_Al mellon nin! Al Legolas…saes…Daro! Daro…al Legolas…saes…_" _Not my friend! Not Legolas…please…Stop! Stop…not Legolas…please_." Aragorn's head turned restlessly, begging for his friend against whatever evil he saw. Suddenly eyes glassy with fever and pain snapped open, unfocused, and Aragorn struggled to sit up, to fight the enemies manufactured by his burning mind.

"Im si, Estel." _I'm here, Estel_. Legolas murmured anxiously, moving his hands to the ranger's shoulders, pressing him gently back into the pillows. "Baw erio, mellon nin." _Don't get up, my friend_. "Baur lin na an idh." _Your need is for rest_.

"_Avo naegro hon. Saes…daro…Leithio hon!_" _Don't hurt him. Please…stop…Release him_! Aragorn struggled weakly against his friend's grasp, his eyes wide but staring at things unseen by all but himself. "_Legolas!_" In his delirious state, his cries slipped from the grey tongue into his own language. "_Mercy! Please…grant mercy._"

Legolas was nearly as frightened as his hallucinating human friend was, Aragorn's anguished pleas striking through the young prince's heart as he held the trembling ranger down. Aragorn could not see him, was not aware of his touch, was totally seized by the fear stalking his dreams and Legolas was shaken to see him so.

"Estel! Im si…Avon awartha le, mellon nin." _I'm here…I will not forsake you, my friend_. Uncertain if he was getting through at all, with Aragorn moaning painfully within his grasp, Legolas leaned down until he was practically speaking into the ranger's ear. "Estel…it is I, Legolas. I am here beside you and I am unharmed."

"The sickness has driven him to fever-terrors." Elladan said, distressed as he watched the Silvan elf struggle to calm the trembling human. "I do not know if he will hear you, mellon nin."

Legolas swallowed tightly as his efforts to soothe Aragorn met with little success. He released his hold on Aragorn's shoulders and instead took up the ranger's hand, clasping it between both of his own.

"Aragorn!" He said quietly, but urgently. His use of the ranger's human name in the company of other elves was testament enough to Legolas' desperation to reach his friend. "Tolo ad ammen…saes…lasto nin." _Come back to us…please…hear me_. "Tiro na nin. Al erui le." _Look at me. You are not alone_.

Legolas was not certain what prompted him to do so, but he began to hum very softly the song they had sung together that night under the stars, the tale of the gift of song from Varda to the Firstborn. Holding Aragorn's hand firmly in both of his own, one thumb rubbing gently along it in hope of reinforcing the contact between them, Legolas hummed the gentle melody.

Amazingly, Aragorn's anxious murmuring faded and his besieged body sank back into the pillows. Legolas fought the urge to grin foolishly at Elladan's surprised expression, and continued to hum, eventually breaking into the lyrics, his soft voice the only sound for long minutes as Aragorn's eyes drifted closed once more and a sense of peace seemed to pervade the room at last. Legolas lifted one hand away from Aragorn's and gently brushed aside dark hair that had fallen into Aragorn's face during his fitful movement.

"It's working." Elrohir breathed out, gracing the archer with a smile of his own. Legolas simply nodded a little, not stopping the song but letting it spin its comfort around the ailing human. If it meant giving his sworn friend relief from the fearful dreams, he would sing all night if he had to. Aragorn shivered suddenly, feverish chills sweeping his frame, and Legolas moved to tuck the blanket more closely about the ranger, carefully placing the hand he had held beneath it.

Elrohir moved to the fireplace now, stoking up the fire that had been started earlier by Glorfindel. A mighty crack of thunder made the younger Peredhel jump, and even Legolas' voice hitched just a little at the ferocity of it. Pausing in his singing, the blonde elf glanced at Aragorn, making certain the human was peaceful enough before rising and walking over to the window.

"That was loud enough to wake the dead from their very graves." Elrohir commented uneasily. Legolas nodded slightly, his sharp gaze directed outward. The Mirkwood prince thought idly that the stable-hands likely would not have an easy time of it trying to keep the horses calm during this.

"It is as evil a storm as I've ever seen." Legolas agreed, despite the fact that, by Elvish reckoning was still rather young. The Silvan elf glanced down, fingering the sleeve of the borrowed tunic thoughtfully. Turning around to look at the twins, Elladan still seated nearby Aragorn and Elrohir tending to the fire, Legolas asked softly, "El…'Ro…what happened to Estel?" Elrohir threw another piece of wood onto the fire.

"Estel was doing some scouting for Ada up into the north country." The younger twin started, looking back at Legolas. "There have been more Orcs sighted up there and Estel was going to see what he could learn from the Dúnedain as well."

"He was overdue to return by nearly a week," Elladan took up the tale. "And Ada was about to send us out after him but just before we were to leave, Estel came back…"

"_Estel!" Elrohir cried out, and his happy shout drew the attentions of both Elladan and Elrond, who joined him in the courtyard to see Aragorn's horse clatter into the courtyard, the human rider upon its back bearing all the marks of a scouting trip—filthy, worn and a little worse for wear. None of which prevented the youngest member of the Peredhil household from handing out warm hugs in greeting to his foster brothers, neither of whom protested—too much._

"'_Ro! El!" Aragorn grinned, despite the exhaustion that clawed at him like a thing alive. "You don't appear to have missed me too much…you don't look like you've gotten into any trouble at all while I was away."_

"_We were bored stiff." Elladan confirmed with a laugh. "There was no one to play tricks on except Glorfindel…"_

"…_And you know how stuffy Glorfindel can be when…" Elrohir added._

"…_we make too much of a mess of him." Elladan finished. Aragorn laughed as well, shaking his head a little._

"_Good to know I was missed." Aragorn replied lightly._

"_You were, ion nin." Elrond joined his sons and smiled. "Welcome home, Estel. I'm sure you have quite a bit of news for me but it's nothing that can't wait for a bit of rest and some clean clothes." The Elf Lord raised an eyebrow. "You look as if you are about to fall asleep where you stand."_

"_Mae govannen, Ada." Aragorn blinked dazedly; as Elrond suggested, he felt so tired. A little over two weeks on horseback was long enough, even for a Ranger, and he abruptly swayed a bit on his feet. Just that quickly, Elrond's hand was upon Aragorn's shoulder, the piercing eyes looking at Aragorn cautiously._

"_Estel?"_

"_I'm all right. Only tired, as you said." Aragorn waved him off a little. "I just need a warm bed and a long sleep_."

"Estel went up to his room, and we didn't see him again until after supper." Elladan continued. "By the time he came back down, we were all in the Hall of Fire, just talking."

"He looked awful." Elrohir took over once again, his voice softer now, and tender. "Tense…and exhausted. Almost like he hadn't slept at all." The twins looked at each other before Elrohir went on.

_Aragorn slipped into the Hall of Fire, his steps quiet, smiling as he listened to his brothers arguing about something or other. As with his arrival in the courtyard, Elrohir noticed him first, and the younger twin pushed up from the large throw pillow he'd been lounging on in front of the fire._

"_Estel…" He grinned. "You're just in time to settle something for us."_

"_You're not dragging me into the middle of anything!" Aragorn exclaimed lightly, trying not to laugh aloud. "It's my first night back!"_

"_El here says…" Elrohir started, and then stopped. "Estel, are you all right?"_

_Elrond looked up from the text he was perusing, having largely ignored his twin sons' lively banter, and swept a practiced look over his youngest son._

"_You look a little pale, ion nin." Elrond observed a little worriedly. Aragorn shrugged it off._

"_It was a lot of hard riding, Ada." He explained simply. "The Dúnedain have had their hands full with these Orc incursions. We ran into a band of them on the southern perimeter of the Dúnedain camp." Aragorn dragged another of the large pillows close to the fire and dropped down onto it, a small grateful smile to be home. He closed his eyes and listened to the "argument" resume and a faint smile crossed his lips…only to disappear as he reached up to lightly rub his temple_.

"He thought nobody saw it, but I did." Elrohir said dejectedly. "I should have said something then, but I just thought Estel was still only tired from the journey."

"It wasn't until a day or two later that we finally realized that something was really wrong." Elladan echoed his brother's woeful tone. "You know how stubborn Estel is. He never said anything about feeling bad."

"Or that he wasn't sleeping well." Elrohir added. "El and I found him out in the gardens just staring up at the stars one night, and I've never seen Estel look so…"

"…troubled." Elladan finished, finding the word that seemed to escape his younger brother.

"Troubled?" Legolas interrupted the telling of the tale at this point, looking from one Peredhel twin to the other. It was like looking into mirrored images of upset and puzzlement. "Did Estel tell you what was troubling him, El?" Almost as one, the brothers shook their heads and Legolas' expression drew into a tight frown. Folding his arms across his chest, the Silvan elf glanced back at Aragorn.

"We began to see that he was in pain," Elrohir said softly, continuing the explanation of the events that had led up to writing the note to bring the Mirkwood prince to Imladris. "Estel tried to hide it, but we could tell that he was hurting. He wouldn't even tell Ada what was wrong."

"Headaches." Elladan said softly, worriedly. "And they were getting worse."

_Elladan raced up the stairway, his steps light and swift but not nearly light enough to go unnoticed by Aragorn, who simply rolled over in bed and clasped the pillow over his head with a soft grunt just as the elder twin opened the door._

"_Wake up, sleepy." Elladan announced cheerfully. "Today's the day, Estel. We're supposed to…" He trailed off as he noticed how his foster brother had curled beneath the blankets as if to ward off the very day. A slight frown graced his features as he came further into the room, allowing the door to swing mostly closed behind him. Something that sounded suspiciously like, 'go away' came out in muffled tones beneath the pillow, but Elladan sat down on the edge of the bed. "Estel…" He said worriedly. "Are you all right?"_

_The pillow moved, now as Aragorn flung it aside irritated and squinted up into the bright morning light at his brother._

"_Perfectly fine, thank you very much." The young ranger said grumpily. "Aside from being dragged out practically at dawn to…"_

"_Dawn? Gwador nin, it is nearly mid-morn. Ada wondered why you hadn't come down for breakfast."_

"_Wasn't hungry." Aragorn hedged, not willing to discuss the true reason for his absence. Elladan raised his eyebrows in what Aragorn found to be an irritating similarity to Elrond himself._

"_It's another one of those headaches, isn't it?" It was more statement than question, and at his foster brother's agitated sigh, Elladan shook his head, upset. "You need to talk to Ada about this, Estel. This has been going on ever since you got back from the Dúnedain camp. Did you not sleep again last night?"_

_Aragorn hesitated; he could see how upset El was becoming._

"_No." He finally admitted, and Elladan could see how rough Aragorn was beginning to look._

"_Not at all?" Elladan pressed, and it earned him a dark look from his younger brother. "All right…Estel, peace. I just…I'm worried is all." Aragorn sighed softly._

"_Go on down, El. Let me get dressed and I'll be down in a few minutes."_

_Elladan hesitated, but simply placed his hand upon Aragorn's shoulder in silent concern. Slipping from his brother's room, he reluctantly made his way back down the steps, and sat down on the bottom pair of stairs._

"_You look like you did when you lost that shooting contest to me." Elrohir announced as he came around the corner and his gaze fell upon his brother. "Did Glorfindel chase you out of the—El? What's wrong?"_

"_Estel." Elladan replied quietly, and instantly Elrohir's gaze went to the top of the stairs._

"_Will you two stop fretting? I'm fine." Aragorn announced from the landing as he started down the stairs, his steps nearly as light as his elven brothers' were after years of mimicking their mannerisms. Elrohir dropped his jaw; it was clear enough to him at least that his human brother was not fine. There were dark circles under the ranger's eyes, which instead of their normally clear blue-grey seemed slightly dulled._

"_Estel…" Elrohir started, but stopped at the look Aragorn shot at him_.

"I didn't even get a chance to say anything to him." Elrohir shook his head a little. "The next thing I knew, Estel was falling…down the last four or five stairs, right into me and El. He was…" The younger twin's voice cracked anxiously. "He was in terrible pain, holding his head and saying…saying things that didn't make sense."

As with the comment about Estel being troubled, that also caught Legolas' attention, and the Silvan archer leaned forward a little.

"Things that didn't make sense? What was he saying?"

"'_Ro, I…" Aragorn started to wave off his brothers' concerns. Suddenly the ranger winced sharply, one hand coming abruptly to his temple and the other one grasping for the railing but his fingers missed it entirely as his knees buckled. Before either elf could react, their mortal brother collapsed completely, tumbling down the steps and falling into them. Elrohir was the first to respond, getting his hands beneath Aragorn and carefully easing him off Elladan and down onto the floor._

"_Estel!" The younger twin exclaimed, gently turning Aragorn over. The ranger groaned sharply, one hand still pressed against his temple, pain written in his expression._

"_Beware…the Black Star!" Aragorn gasped between gritted teeth. "Leave them alone!" He brought his other hand up, both fists held tight to his head. "The Star will be the ruin…" Aragorn sucked in a sharp breath before sagging, abruptly unconscious, against Elrohir, who still held him_.

"Then we carried him up here." Elladan motioned briefly around them. "Estel did not awaken for four days, and when he did, he was incoherent, confused…" The elder twin's expression grew distressed. "At first Ada feared he had taken some sort of wound at the hands of the Orcs…but there wasn't a mark on him. If Estel has fallen to poison, Ada has not yet found its type or source." He looked away, unable to vocalize his fears, that there was no help for the fallen ranger.

"The terrors started after that, and that's when I sent for you." Elrohir finished very softly, still kneeling by the fire but his head bowed sadly. "The fever's been taking his mind."

Legolas' own expression grew taut, a slight frown. _Black Star?_ He thought, puzzled. _What in Arda are you talking about, Estel_…? The archer's heart fairly ached. _Ruin what, mellon nin? What happened to you_? Silently he walked back over to the bedside and settled back down at Aragorn's side, worry clearly broadcasting from the slender woodland elf like a signal beacon. Placing his hand gently over the wrist he knew was beneath the blanket, Legolas settled himself to keep vigil alongside his friend.

"Al erui le." He repeated very softly, even though he knew that Aragorn could not hear him. "Gwesto an le, sui na Legolas Thranduilion, al erui le." _You're not alone. I swear to you as I am Legolas son of Thranduil, you are not alone_.

* * *

The candles were burning low and the fire had died down considerably. The only sound in the room was the rumbling of thunder and the rhythm of rain as the fierce storm continued to vent its fury into the late hours. There was the passing thought that there could be a danger of flooding down below but it was a fleeting one.

Scrolls and books and musty papers were strewn across the desk…the table…lying in his lap. Elrond leaned back in his chair, dark eyes watching absently as candle wax dripped from the edges of an overflowing candlestick, onto a stack of papers. Absently he watched the drops fall, cooling even as they fell onto the growing lump of soft wax, before a white flare of lightning startled him back to the moment.

The Elf Lord reached up with the fingers of his right hand, rubbing at eyes weary from the endless search. Healers' texts, histories, even lore so far had been no avail. For a moment, the guttering candles arrested his attention again and the mists of memory swirled around him. A small, curly-haired _adan hên_ in all his childish curiosity completely capturing the attentions of three Elves centuries older. A ghost of a smile crossed Elrond's lips; it had seemed merely yesterday that the twins had returned from the scenes of battle, Elladan cradling the small boy in his arms.

However, clasped around his neck on a chain, until his hand should grow into wearing it, was Barahir and Elrond knew at that second the identity of the sleeping child in Elladan's arms…who he was born to be. The weight of the world of Men would rest upon those small shoulders one day, but it was not that day.

Nor the next…or the day after that.

Those days were simply filled with a child growing up, and Elrond could only hope that he had done right by his foster son, whom he had come to love as one of his own. It wasn't the first time that a son of Elendil's line had found refuge in Imladris, but none had entered his heart the way Aragorn son of Arathorn had.

There were lessons. There were games. When he was old enough, there was instruction in the arts of warfare and of healing. There were many things this one would need to know, and with all the care that foreknowledge could bring him, Elrond hoped they had imparted those things to Aragorn.

However, there was now no knowledge, no foresight that revealed to him the path that laid before his adopted son now. Elrond could only see shadow and mist, where once there had been the clarity to know that Aragorn's destiny, should he accept it, would kindle the promise of Men.

That promise laid suffering under his own roof, and Elrond closed his eyes abruptly, bowing his head to his hand once again. It was so much more than even that…it was the fate, he realized, of his own heart. The burdens he had borne, from the moment Isildur had kept the One Ring for his own, had found some balm in Aragorn. Even now, Elrond yet hoped that the ranger would one day take up his heritage and restore the line of Kings. Nevertheless, it had become more than the healing of his trust in Men—it was now the healing of his heart as a father. He could no more bear the thought of burying Estel than he could stand the thought of losing Elladan or Elrohir to an enemy's blade.

"Ada?"

The tremulous voice behind him brought Elrond up from his misted thoughts and the Elf Lord looked up to see Elladan standing in the doorway, an obvious expression of concern upon his features. Elrond sat up abruptly, spilling the parchment in his lap to the floor in his haste.

"Estel…?" He questioned, half standing before his son could even hold up a hand to stay the motion.

"Estel is sleeping." Elladan reassured, coming further into the study and taking in its disheveled appearance with a disbelieving eye. He had never known his father to be anything but neat and orderly; this carnage of papers and books and references testified to Elrond's urgent search. "He had another fever-dream but Legolas managed to calm him down."

At that, Elrond did smile just a little. It was good that Legolas was here. The Prince of Mirkwood had been a great gift of the Valar to his youngest son, and in turn, it was quite obvious that Aragorn had become Legolas' most trusted companion.

"You did well to summon him here." Elrond remarked, as he finally sat back down and retrieved the papers he had dropped. "I know how deeply their friendship runs."

"Elrohir did that, Ada." The older twin confessed, settling into a nearby chair. Elrond's smiled deepened a little at that information, and he nodded.

"I was just remembering the day that you and he brought Estel home to Imladris."

Elladan's expression instantly sobered, recognizing the tiredness and worry in his father's tone, and his own look reflected it back to the Elf Lord.

"He was so small." Elladan nodded a little, remembering. "It was nothing to carry him."

"And now we must carry him again." Elrond remarked sadly. "I fear his strength will not last much longer under this…assault." There was no other word that he could think of to describe the strange affliction that plagued his mortal son.

"Neither will yours, Ada, if you do not take some rest." Elladan said hesitantly, not wishing to arouse his father's ire, but knowing that Estel's fate rested in Elrond's hands. Hands that would need a rest very soon if they were to keep up their efforts. "Please…Legolas and 'Ro and I will watch over him through the night. If anything changes, we'll wake you, I promise."

Elrond's head tipped back into the chair, and he regarded his oldest son affectionately.

"You do not yet know the drive of a father fearful for his son, but…"

"I know the drive of a son fearful for his father." Elladan interjected as boldly as he dared. "Ada please." He motioned around the room. "The fire has died and the candles are nearly spent." Elrond drew in a slow breath, his gaze again drifting to the flickering stub of wax left in candlestick he had been gazing at earlier. At last, he slowly stood and leaned over the candle, blowing out the flickering flame.

"Leave instruction with Glorfindel that I am to be awakened at dawn." He gave Elladan a look that meant his wishes were to be strictly followed. "I will not spare time for more than what is necessary. I fear Estel doesn't have it to spare."

Elladan moved along the perimeter of the room, dousing the other candles until only the soft glow of embers in the fireplace illuminated their discussion.

"I swore that day I would do all in my power to protect him." Elladan said softly, suddenly. "And now that I find I cannot…"

Elrond found his own heart sink with those words, and he crossed the room quickly, placing his hands upon his son's shoulders. There were tears in Elladan's eyes, the first ones that he had allowed himself to part with since Aragorn's collapse. Elrond steeled himself the best he could despite feeling dampness well in his own eyes.

"He knows, somewhere inside, that you are at his side, El." The Elf Lord said softly. "That is protection enough, ion nin. We will fight for him, I promise you."

As father and son left the study, however, they both were left to wonder if that fight would be won…

…or eternally lost.


	4. Black Star

THREE

Black Star

_I bid thee come, this I pray._

_Show me again the light of day._

_Hope is struck, is now forlorn_

_Within my heart a darkness borne._

_Fading, fainting time of loss_

_Comes to us now to pay the cost._

_Will you remember me until the end?_

_I bear your memory forever, my friend._

Dawn over Imladris was grey and cold, the rain having slackened to a persistent drizzle, the fury of thunder and lightning left behind. The only light remaining from the previous evening was a pair of candles stubbornly guttering along and the faint glowing embers in the fireplace. As the pale dawn filtered through the cloudy sky, Legolas reached up to rub the back of his neck, having spent the entire night at Aragorn's side in a high-backed chair.

The twins had both dozed off some little while ago at his insistence; Legolas could easily guess that neither of them had slept much since Aragorn's collapse, and as quickly as Elrohir in particular fell asleep, he'd known that he was right.

Aragorn was still and pale; a touch to his forehead told Legolas that the fever was still blisteringly present. Taking the cooling cloth once more, Legolas dampened it and replaced over Aragorn's forehead.

"_Feels…good_." The soft whisper was so unexpected that Legolas nearly jumped in his seat. Leaning forward, he placed his hand upon the ranger's shoulder.

"Estel?" Legolas murmured, smiling a bit. Aragorn's eyes opened partially, and a painful wince crossed his features. "Easy…don't move."

"_Dizzy_..." Aragorn murmured softly, struggling to focus his gaze. He blinked slowly, dazedly. Legolas kept his hand upon the ranger's shoulder, a gentle point of contact.

"Just rest, mellon nin." Legolas encouraged. "You've been very sick; the fever is not yet broken."

"_Legolas?_" Aragorn murmured, as if just realizing who was sitting at his side. "_How did you…_?" Legolas smiled again, his fingers tightening briefly upon the man's shoulder.

"You can thank 'Ro for that." He said softly. "He thought I should be here to nursemaid you." The sparkle in the sapphire eyes drew a wan, faint smile from the ill human.

"_Nurse…maid me…?_" Aragorn closed his eyes again; despite his relief at seeing Legolas, the dizziness nauseated him. "_Fussy…Elf._" Legolas' smile faded in spite of the light jest. Aragorn was still terribly ill and it worried him greatly.

"Stubborn human." The archer traded back gently, allowing another brief smile to cross his features. Rising silently, Legolas crossed over to a nearby table and returned a moment later with a cup of water poured from the pitcher there. Settling on the edge of the bed, Legolas slipped his left arm beneath Aragorn, propping up the weakened human's head and shoulders, and with his right hand held the cup to Aragorn's lips. The human moaned sharply, and Legolas bit his lower lip briefly. "Goheno nin, Estel. Avon thelo naegra le." _Forgive me, Estel. I did not mean to pain you_. "Sogo tithen." _Drink a little_. He encouraged, tipping the cup just enough for the water to touch Aragorn's lips.

At the liquid's cool touch, Aragorn opened his mouth, swallowing reflexively and eagerly at the water. After a moment, Legolas pulled the cup back cautiously. "Not so fast…easy, mellon nin." Despite the thirst generated by the high fever, the elf was unwilling to risk upsetting Aragorn's stomach. The sickness the ranger suffered was bad enough without such aggravation. Aragorn paused as directed, letting his head lean back against Legolas' arm.

"_Hannon le…_" He murmured quietly, just resting on his friend's strength. Gratitude flooded through him for Legolas' steady presence, and a soft sigh escaped him.

"Estel?" Legolas inquired worriedly. Aragorn seemed so fragile; but then again, anytime the human was injured or ill, the dread of his mortality seemed to clench the elf's heart like a vise. Blue-grey eyes, somewhat dulled by the illness, looked up at the elf who supported him and a faint smile crossed Aragorn's features.

"_Worrywart_." He accused lightly. "_I am glad…you're here_." It was a simple enough answer, but it carried so much more, Legolas realized, in the face of the horrid nightmares that Aragorn had endured. Setting aside the cup, the elf brushed his hand gently along the feverish face.

"So am I." Legolas reassured. Shifting slowly so as to minimize the hurt to Aragorn's aching head, he eased the man back onto the pillows. "Go back to sleep, Estel. You must regain your strength to fight this sickness." Legolas' eyes widened as Aragorn unexpectedly gripped his sleeve, fingers tangling desperately in the silken red fabric of Elrohir's tunic.

"_Do not…make me go back…_" He pleaded, and Legolas' expression grew anxious.

"Back? Back where, mellon nin?" The grip on his sleeve grew tighter, as if Aragorn were trying to convince himself of Legolas' presence.

"_It will…it will destroy_…" It was as if a candle had been snuffed out and the ranger was dissolving into delirium once more, his eyes fever-bright and panicked. Legolas laid his hand over the one that had such a tight hold on his sleeve, swallowing tightly.

"Estel…" Legolas murmured softly. "You are in Imladris, mellon nin. Nothing will touch you here." Even more frightening than the sudden grip on his arm and the abrupt terror, was the sudden slackness of Aragorn's fingers as the ranger's hand slipped away from Legolas' grasp and fell aside. "Estel!"

"_Black…_" Aragorn whispered fearfully. "_Don't make me…_" The heart-rending plea trailed off as the ranger's eyes slid shut.

"Estel!" Legolas cried out again, hands moving to grip the human's shoulders as if to shake him awake once more, but his fingers simply trembled against his friend's arms. "Estel…"

The frightened voice of the Silvan archer was enough to awaken the twins, who both sprang up out of their chairs before either of them was fully awake. Stumbling toward their mortal brother's bedside, Elrohir reached them first and placed a hand upon Legolas' shoulder.

"Legolas?" The younger twin demanded anxiously. "What happened?"

Elladan was kneeling at Aragorn's other side, his palm resting lightly against his foster brother's forehead. Unlike the febrile terrors that had gripped the ranger earlier, Aragorn was now so still that only the faint sound of his breath indicated that he still lived.

"Valar…" The elder twin breathed out.

"I don't know!" Legolas answered Elrohir, his voice taut with anxiety. "He…Estel woke up, and…he took a little water…" The Silvan was trembling now, grateful for the steady hand of the Peredhel twin on his shoulder. "And then he begged me not to make him go back…"

"Back where?" Elladan inquired curiously, much as Legolas had a moment ago. The blonde elf shook his head a bit, just as confused as the twins were.

"I don't know." Legolas replied quietly, his throat tightening. Black, Estel had said… "Somewhere dark." The archer finally murmured. "Dark and lonely."

Rain began to patter against the windows again, although it was not the voluminous storm that had broken upon them the day before, more of a steady, soaking sort of rain. Legolas raised his head, looking at the falling rain absently as if he were looking beyond it, seeking something much more pleasant. Swallowing tightly, he looked back to the hand he held, Aragorn's fingers curled loosely around his own.

_I cannot leave you there, mellon nin_. Legolas swore silently to himself. _I will not abandon you to darkness as long as I draw breath_. Thoughts were beginning to gather within him, but he would not speak of them, not yet. Curling his fingers closer around Aragorn's limp hand, Legolas very simply once again began to sing, hoping against hope that perhaps the melody, perhaps his voice, would reach through to Aragorn wherever he had been imprisoned, through the blackness that pressed upon him.

Legolas' voice was soft but steady, determined, tender. It did not cease, even when the door opened to admit Lord Elrond; he was _going_ to save his friend. By whatever means necessary, he was going to rescue Estel. Even if it meant giving up his voice, or his life, to do so.

* * *

"It is so simple." The soft voice; honeyed and gentle as it had always been, murmured into the quiet. It was the last bit of beauty still left to her and so she spoke often, even if it was to herself, just to remember that it remained. To remember what it felt like to be lovely and unspoiled.

At the same time, however, there were mirrors everywhere. Hanging in silent accusation of what she had become, reminding her every single day of her burning pain. She no longer shied away from them as she once had, despite whatever anyone else might think of their eerie reflections.

Not that there was often anyone else to comment upon them—or upon her. The other brand that remained with her was the loneliness, the indefinable, interminable aching loneliness that seemed at times to suffocate her. Did the Firstborn feel these pangs? She often wondered if they recalled her tears…so much brokenness, so much forgotten. At one time, she had wondered almost as much what the Valar had against her to decree her fate, but she didn't think on that much any longer. Valinor, it seemed, was silent.

Now, it appeared that her rescue was close at hand. The burden that she had carried for so long could finally be released, and the wonder of that made her smile slightly. Such an unexpected thing, and from a most unexpected source. "So simple." She repeated to herself softly, and she paused before one of the mirrors that lined her hallway, looking upon the reflection with a distant sort of comprehension, one hand reaching up to her cheekbone. Her fingers trailed down her face briefly, before she turned away and continued on down the hall. Smiling faintly, she wondered if he would find her beautiful, or if like all the others, would forget her to the end of his days.

* * *

Time seemed to have distilled itself into a single awareness: Estel. Little else registered with Legolas as he kept vigil, bathing the fevered face with the cooling cloth, speaking softly, sometimes singing and refusing to leave Aragorn's side.

For a frighteningly long span of time, there had been no movement, no response from Aragorn since his earlier slide into feverish unconsciousness, and Legolas feared that the Halls of Mandos might open their doors to receive the young ranger right then. At last, however, a delirious partial awareness returned to Aragorn, allowing Legolas to coax more water into him.

Elrond approached the bedside with another cup and he held it before the Silvan archer. At Legolas' curious look, the Elf Lord nodded reassuringly.

"It's for the fever." Elrond said quietly. It was not a cure, for Elrond was uncertain as yet of that, but if the fever remained too high for too long, it could cause a whole other set of problems. Legolas shifted a bit; once again, moving to support the weakened ranger in such a fashion that Aragorn could drink from the cup.

"Estel?" Legolas prompted gently. "Echuivo, saes, mellon nin." _Wake up, please, my friend_.

The first thing Aragorn was aware of was the insistent pain pounding through his head like a cave troll on a rampage. He couldn't seem to make his mind remember a time when it didn't hurt, and his initial wish was to simply fall back into the oblivion that kept him from the sharp ache, until conscious thought reminded him what waited in those black recesses. That was enough to prompt him to force his eyes open just a bit, and he swallowed thickly as his stomach protested his bid for wakefulness. Estel... He heard his name whispered nearby, and for a moment, he wasn't entirely sure if it was his imagination playing tricks on him or not.

"_Ada_?" Aragorn forced his voice to work; it came out as a weak murmur. A cool, gentle hand touched his face, and somewhere above him, he was aware of the same voice that had uttered his name.

"Nay…" Legolas continued; his hand at Aragorn's face. "Na Legolas, mellon nin." _It's Legolas, my friend_. "Echuivo an nin, saes…" _Wake up for me, please_.

"_Ll…Legolas_?" Aragorn echoed slowly, forcing his eyes open a little more. Eyes slightly unfocused, he directed his attention to the figure at his side and a faint smile touched his lips. For his own part, Legolas was grateful to see Aragorn a bit more lucid at this waking, despite the obvious pain written in the pale features. "I knew…you were…too stubborn. It…it could not take..." A sharp wince drew the human's eyes tightly closed, accompanied by a soft gasp.

"Shh, mellon nin." Legolas reassured, moving to stroke his thumb along Aragorn's forehead, seeking to ease the ache. "Baw pedo…boe polod lín." _Don't speak; you need your strength_. After a moment, the blonde elf looked up, pausing to take the cup from Elrond's hand, and he put it to Aragorn's lips. "Sogo sen, Estel." _Drink this, Estel_. Aragorn's expression twisted into a grimace of disgust as the draught's scent reached him, and Legolas resisted the urge to grin, despite the knowledge, that if it smelled bad it likely wasn't going to taste that much better.

"I haven't seen a face like that since you were seven." Elrond said gently, leaning down to brush the back of his fingers along Aragorn's face. "Take the draught, ion nin…you'll feel better for it." The Elf Lord smiled a bit. "Even if it doesn't seem like it by its strength." After several minutes, most of the medicine had been swallowed, and Elrond took the cup back from Legolas.

"Ego ad an idh, Estel." _Go back to sleep_. Legolas soothed, hoping anxiously that this time the suggestion would not send his friend back into the fearful pleading to stay awake, knowing that the weakened, ailing human needed as much rest as he could get. The elf's fingers returned to the gentle massaging to try to ease the terrible headache that seemed to refuse to release his friend.

"_Don't let it_..." Aragorn started once again, but eyes glassy with fever and pain eventually slid shut once again. Legolas frowned anxiously, but his hand did not stray from Aragorn's forehead. The pain in his friend's eyes had been enough to stab at his heart. After several more minutes, simply resting within his sworn brother's embrace, Aragorn's breathing slowed into sleep, his taut frame relaxing abruptly against the elf. Legolas eased Aragorn back onto the bed, covering him with the blanket, and he desperately hoped this sleep would be peaceful, unbroken by nightmare or pain.

"He should sleep a few hours' time." Elrond said quietly, as if reading the wood-elf's mind. Truly, he shared the same concerns, and he offered the Silvan archer a slight smile. "I put a sleeping herb into the draught; it is my hope that it will give him some unbroken rest as well as take the fever down."

Legolas glanced around and then back up to the Elf Lord.

"Where are Elrohir and Elladan, my Lord?" He asked perplexed, not having noticed the twins' departure in his concentration upon Aragorn. That drew a soft chuckle from Elrond, who shook his head slightly.

"I sent them to break their fast." The Elf Lord said simply, despite the lateness of the morning hour. "As I should do with you, young Prince. Your father would never approve of my sending you home as a scarecrow, for the love of my son or not." A dark eyebrow rose slightly.

"My Lord…please…" Legolas pressed his lips together slightly. "Please do not make me leave his side." He finally, asked, with what he hoped was the right mixture of respect and determination. _For I must soon enough_. The thought made him cringe inwardly.

"I will not." Elrond promised as he moved to a nearby chair now, settling into it with a soft sigh. "I instructed Elladan to bring you something to break fast when he returns." Motioning slightly toward his youngest son, Elrond said, "As they have no wish to leave him either, I am sure your wait will not be long."

Legolas nodded absently, looking up to watch the rain still pattering gently against the window. His eyes held a deep regret within them, but there was little he could do about it except what he must. Finally, the Silvan archer drew in a deep breath, and looked over at Elrond.

"I hope the rain passes by soon." He said oddly, almost absently, and Elrond frowned slightly, having an uncomfortable inkling as to what the wood-elf was referring. "Tomorrow I ride for the Dúnedain encampment." He said simply in answer to the unasked question. "Whether the rain has stopped or not."

"Legolas!" Elladan exclaimed, disapproving. "You just got here. What if Estel…"

The twins had returned, arriving in the doorway just in time to hear Legolas' declaration, and their features mirrored each other's surprise and dismay. Legolas might have found the identical expressions almost comical except for the circumstances under which they were displayed.

"I will bear the burden for that alone, Elrondion." Legolas said respectfully. "But you must see it yourself. This is an unnatural illness." Sapphire eyes turned calmly back to Elrond, whose expression bore the painful truth of it. Legolas was right. "_Something_ did this to Estel, and I mean to find out what happened." The Silvan elf was determined. "I will not sit by and do nothing if the cause of his condition can be discovered."

There was a breathless sort of silence for a long moment, as if the idea was being weighed, and Legolas did not meet anyone's gaze, simply looking back down into the stilled face of his sleeping, suffering friend. _I will not leave you in the darkness, I promised_.

"You will not go alone, Legolas." Elrond pronounced at length, and Legolas did look up now, his own eyes bearing some dismay now. "If you are correct, Estel met with something more than just the Dúnedain and some Orcs. I will not explain to your father why I was so foolish as to send you off on this errand without aid."

"My Lord…" Legolas inclined his head slightly, despite feeling his ears color a bit with a slight flush. "It is merely that I do not wish to part El and 'Ro from Estel when…" His voice faded a little. "…when he might be lost to us." It was a painful thought, but one that must be spoken; he would not have Aragorn face his final moments alone should it come to that.

"It is not my sons that I intend to send with you." The Elf Lord smiled ever so slightly at the now-puzzled Mirkwood prince. However, he was not forthcoming with his choice for Legolas' companion, instead turning to the twins who were still standing in the doorway as if rooted to the spot, perhaps to prevent the Silvan archer from departing. Elrond motioned now for them to enter the room fully, as Elrohir still bore the tray they had brought up with them from the kitchens with Legolas' breakfast upon it. "Eat something, Legolas, and then we will discuss this further." Rising and passing his sons by, Elrond left the room, presumably to see to whatever arrangements he had in mind.

"I'm not certain if I should be relieved or afraid." Legolas teased the twins lightly, attempting to set them more at ease. "A journey with the Peredhil is often a perilous undertaking, to be sure but perhaps I should prefer that to your father's tender mercies."

"It would serve you right if Ada was thinking of going with you himself." Elrohir muttered as he came closer and handed the tray over to the Silvan elf, and Legolas nearly dropped it in his surprise.

"You don't…you don't think he really would, do you?" The blonde archer looked from one twin to the other, and met identical deadpan expressions. Sighing softly, the Silvan elf regarded his breakfast and began to eat, knowing he would do Aragorn no good to start out on this journey in poor strength. Elladan shook his head slightly, a faint smile upon his lips now.

"Fear not, mellon nin." The elder twin said gently. "Ada wouldn't do that to you." He smirked a bit; despite the seriousness of the circumstances, he could not resist returning Legolas' jest. "I think." At the archer's startled look, Elladan allowed the smirk to blossom into a gentle smile, and he reached over to nudge Legolas' shoulder gently. "No, Ada will wish to stay nearby Estel, although I think he must agree with your assessment if he is willing to let you go without so much as a threat to make you wait until your escort arrives from Mirkwood."

Legolas nibbled on a slice of cheese, another slight flush coming to his features. He had quite forgotten about them; likely, the escort would arrive soon, perhaps by nightfall, as they hadn't been _that_ far behind him and Lord Elrond's messenger probably had a lengthy message for him from his father. A slight frown briefly marred the prince's features as he considered that prospect, but perhaps the rain had slowed the warrior party and they would not arrive until after he was well away on his quest. Any reprimand from his father would have to wait; Estel's life was more important.

"I wish you weren't going." Elrohir said softly, and this time his voice lacked the sharpness that it had when he'd suggested that Elrond might be accompanying Legolas himself. The younger twin had such a look of upset on his face that Legolas felt a guilty twinge in his chest. The Noldorin elf now looked up into Legolas' eyes and sighed softly. "I mean…I know you're right. This _isn't_ just something simple. I just…" Elrohir dropped his gaze a bit, feeling guilty himself, perhaps a little foolish. "We need you here, Legolas. _Estel_ needs you."

"Estel _needs_ a chance to survive. I…feel if we cannot find aid for him soon, Estel will leave us for the Halls of Mandos." Legolas said earnestly, unable to express how strongly he felt about it, how his senses fairly screamed to him about the danger to Aragorn. The anxiety had risen during his quiet care of his friend under Elrond's watchful gaze, and he knew that this was something beyond the Elf Lord, beyond Rivendell. "I cannot simply watch him leave us without trying to bring him that aid."

Elrohir nodded slightly, his hand coming up to grasp Legolas' shoulder in a firm gesture of friendship.

"We will plead the Valar to watch over you, to bring you safely back, and to grant you success."

"That is all…" Legolas said with a truly warm smile for both twins. "…that I could possibly ask. Hannon le, Elrondions…I will return as swiftly as I may, and may the Valar show mercy upon Estel."

* * *

The Black Star rose in his dreams. It meant to consume him; meant to consume _them_. _Them who?_ He felt his mind ask him, drowsily, dazedly. _Ada_. Some reasoning part of his mind told him. _Ada did this to me…he put something in that draught to make me sleep_.

He couldn't sleep. He had to…needed to tell them…tell…them.

Pain seared through his head and had he been conscious enough to do so, he might've screamed. However, Elrond's medicine was doing its work, keeping his body insensate, trapping him within this living nightmare. The Black Star was the only reason his mind also wasn't insensate, the only reason he could not truly sleep as his body craved him to do.

Fire. Fire leapt up to lick at him, it seemed like, and if he could have, he would've writhed away from it. Somewhere that still reasoning part of him explained that it was a fever, but he knew it was only present because of the dark thing eating at him.

_Come and I will show you_...

Aragorn mentally twisted away from the memory; again, if he had been fully conscious he might have tried physically to squirm away. The burning touch, the taste of fear, the promise…the _promise_ of ruin… Things forcibly dragged from him that he did not desire to give away, the tears…

It had been buried, that memory. Embedded and covered over until the moment of his collapse before his brothers. Well it was a living thing, now. Living and threatening to swallow him whole.

_Perhaps I will grant you this one mercy_…

Suddenly the iron grip on his mind eased just the slightest bit—as it had in other lucid moments—and simply allowed his mind to fall to the power of Elrond's herbs and Aragorn knew nothing more as the comfort of honest sleep claimed him.

* * *

Elladan looked up as his father entered the healing room, and offered Elrond a small—but genuine—smile.

"Ada…I think the fever's finally breaking." The older twin said cheerfully. "Estel is much cooler to the touch and he has been sleeping very peacefully…not a single fever dream."

Elrond smiled as well, crossing the room in very fluid steps, bending down to place his palm upon Aragorn's forehead. Just as Elladan had pronounced, the heat he felt was much less than it had been earlier, and his human son's breathing seemed to be deep and even, signaling an easy sleep. Still, he had no illusions, and a slight shiver swept up his spine.

"Respite." He murmured more to himself than anything, but Elladan had been more than close enough to hear, and he inclined his head a little, regarding his father curiously.

"Ada?" Elladan prompted, frowning a little. "What do you mean? He'll be rid of the fever altogether soon…"

"No." Elrond replied, a slow shake of his head. "This is temporary." He didn't know how he knew it, but somehow he did. Legolas was right; something unnatural was driving this. "Estel is merely being given respite. Make no mistake; we are in a war for his very life."

"Do you…do you think it is a spell, Ada?" Elladan asked the question he had feared to since Legolas had announced his plans. Elrond hunched his shoulders briefly before replying.

"I know not. If it is, it is one outside the bounds of our influence." At his son's troubled and confused expression, the Elf Lord shook his head slightly. "Not _stronger_, El." He said gently. "Simply of a different nature. Not one that I understand at this time. As with poison, the source must be known in order to devise a cure."

"And Legolas is going to charge off looking for that source." Elladan said anxiously, wearily. "You know Estel will simply kill us if any harm comes to Legolas."

Elrond only half-heartedly smiled now, his fingertips still brushing affectionately along Aragorn's brow. He feared that if any harm came to Legolas, their best hope of keeping Estel with them would perish, and two Elven households would be in deep mourning, not just one.

"Then we must pray the Valar let no harm come to him." Elrond drew a measured breath before speaking further. "Where _is_ our Mirkwood friend? He has scarce left Estel's side since his arrival."

"He is preparing for the journey, Ada. 'Ro went with him to help him provision." Elladan replied, earning an approving nod from his father.

"He should take Lospód; his own mount has not yet had sufficient recovery from the hard journey to Rivendell and Lospód is the swiftest horse in our stables."

Elladan grinned a bit; he always did upon hearing the horse's name. 'Snowfoot' had been Estel's idea, something of a jest, really but the milky white socks on all four of the horse's feet seemed to merit the somewhat fluffy name…not at all the sort of name one would expect of a true warhorse. His mortal brother had taken such teasing for it yet somehow…the name had actually stuck.

"Legolas was nearly convinced that you meant to travel with him, Ada."

"Was he, now?" Elrond favored his son with a warm look. "I'm sure you two had nothing to do with that." He glanced out the window at the steadily falling rain. He too hoped it would stop soon; likely Legolas would wish to leave at first light and the journey would be difficult enough without having to contend with swollen creeks and flooding.

"Ada…" Elladan trailed off, uncertain. Elrond smiled at his eldest son.

"It is in the hands of the Valar now, ion nin. And the hands of one very stubborn Silvan prince."


	5. Thranduilion

FOUR

Thranduilion

_Apart from thee, my steps are sent._

_Away from hope my course is bent._

_Cry sorrow, sun, and stars above._

_Cry for thy heart, for life, and love._

_No joy my heart can take in here._

_Apart from thee, no star will cheer._

_No sun will rise no moon will glow._

_For thou must stay and I must go_.

Dusk was sweeping its soft grey hand over all the earth by the time Legolas and Elrohir returned to the healing room in the Last Homely House. It was much as it was when they'd left it: Elladan sitting closely by his mortal brother and Elrond beside the fire to be close at hand should he be needed. Legolas was pleased to see that Aragorn continued to sleep under the influence of Elrond's herbs, the fever for the moment held at bay.

Elrond looked up as the slender archer slipped quietly into the room, a thoughtful expression upon his features. It certainly was a curious friendship that had sprung up between his adopted human son and the Prince of Mirkwood. _The bloodlines of kings_. Elrond reflected to himself as Legolas approached the fireplace. The heir of Isildur…the son of Thranduil. Two faces of a rather similar coin, in some ways. Elrond offered the other elf a slight smile, which Legolas returned with a slight, respectful nod of his head. _Bound by loyalty beyond the ties of blood, even of race_. Perhaps to share a common fate, even, perhaps a common end, for if Aragorn were to slip away to Death's cold embrace, Elrond had no doubt the loyal archer would simply fade. Time would lose all meaning…

"My Lord Elrond?" Legolas repeated; a slight frown of concern marring his features briefly as Elrond realized that the archer had spoken to him. Elrond looked up finally although he still wore the same contemplative look.

"You have been as true a companion to Estel as I could have ever wished the Valar to bring him." Elrond remarked as his gaze returned to the fire, and unseen by the Elf Lord, Legolas' frown deepened. It was unlike Elrond to be inattentive, and the response had nothing to do with what Legolas had just said regarding the impending arrival of his father's warriors. Quietly, Legolas bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back, before speaking again.

"Estel has been my light in many dire situations, my Lord." Legolas finally replied. "I would not see that light snuffed out before it comes to fulfill its purpose in this…darkening world." Elrond looked up again at that, studying the Silvan elf's countenance. Elrond found it interesting that, when even others questioned if Aragorn would take up his destiny as Isildur's heir, Legolas never did. The archer's belief in his friend was unshakeable, even when Aragorn himself doubted his own strength. It occurred to the Elf Lord that if anyone might be instrumental in prompting Estel to take up the path that led to Gondor's throne, it might very well be this intense young elven prince.

"You speak as you ought, Legolas Thranduilion." Elrond complimented lightly. The Elf Lord did smile now, approvingly. "I would expect no less of your friendship with Estel."

"Hannon le, hir nin." _Thank you, my lord_. Legolas replied sincerely. "I would trust Estel with my life."

"And you often have." Elrond replied quietly. In an unexpected motion, the Elf Lord rose smoothly and clasped the archer's forearm in a gesture of respect. "As I now trust you with his."

Dark eyes met sapphire ones, and Legolas held the gaze steadily. This was a charge, despite the lack of formal language. Elrond was literally placing the life of his son into Legolas' hands. There was a long moment that seemed to hang suspended between them as Elrond kept his grip on the archer's arm and Legolas returned it just as firmly.

"I will not betray that trust, my Lord." Legolas finally answered, with a slight bow of his head.

Behind them, the twins regarded this exchange solemnly and intently; Elrond was not one to dispense such faith lightly or often. Elrohir edged closer to his brothers, placing a hand upon Elladan's shoulder in silent support. Neither twin needed to speak aloud to know the worry that the other was feeling, both for Estel and for their Silvan friend.

"Hannon le, Legolas." Elrond said very softly, releasing the blonde elf. Legolas smiled very slightly, and nodded again, confirming his intentions. "And now, I will see to the preparations for your father's envoy." The archer's startled expression drew a soft chuckle from the Elf Lord. "I may be preoccupied, but I am not deaf. Of course your people are welcome in Imladris and I will see to it that any message from King Thranduil is held over for you." Legolas murmured quiet thanks to the Elf Lord, and Elrond departed to see to things necessary for the guests from Mirkwood.

Prepared now for the journey north, Legolas resumed his station at Aragorn's side, unwilling to part from the ranger until he absolutely must. Quiet, murmured conversation rose and fell between the twins like a gentle tide, all three of the younger elves feeling the imminence of Legolas' departure and the stakes involved in this undertaking. None of them spoke of it, however; the twins simply content to speak of Estel and all the trouble their foster brother was going to find himself in, once he was well, for nearly scaring the immortal life out of them.

It was not, Legolas reflected wryly, the first time the twins taught similar "lessons" to Estel after other such scares. Not adding to the conversation, the Silvan archer merely smiled a bit as he listened to the quiet banter carried on by Elladan and Elrohir. It was the sort of awkward small talk carried on before a reluctant farewell, and oddly enough, Legolas found some comfort in it.

The rain thrummed steadily upon the roof, against the windows. The wind had picked up and rustled through the trees, and Legolas lifted his gaze briefly to observe the leaden skies. There had been some small breaks from the wet weather through the day, but it seemed determined to stay awhile longer. Legolas sighed softly.

"Just the mud alone will be fun, I'm sure." Elladan teased lightly, having seen where the Silvan elf's gaze had gone.

"Lospód will lose his name by the time you've returned." Elrohir added, grinning. Like his father, Elrohir was well aware that Legolas would need a fresh steed and had come to the same conclusion on which horse would best serve the archer's needs. "You'll come back to us looking like mud-mice." It was the worst teasing Elrohir could think of, knowing how fussy the Silvan elf could be about his appearance. It garnered the younger twin the glare he was expecting, and he grinned.

"I would hold my tongue about mud if I were you, 'Ro." Legolas responded in the same light tone. "Else you might find yourself wearing some of it yourself."

"You heard it with your own ears, El. The Prince of Mirkwood is threatening me." Elrohir said with a pretended pout. Despite the bit of banter, a sudden, uncomfortable silence fell over the three friends.

"I would not leave his side if I thought there was any other way to save him." Legolas finally said very quietly, his gaze upon Aragorn's still features. The human had slept peacefully throughout their entire conversation, testament to the strength of the herbs given to him. The twins traded a concerned gaze as the archer slipped his fingers around Aragorn's hand.

"Mellon nin, there is no doubt of that." Elladan said gently, but firmly. "Ada has given you his trust, Legolas. By the Valar, you have mine as well."

"El is right." Elrohir added immediately, reaching over to clasp the wood-elf's wrist gently. "We know you would never be false to Estel. Nor he to you." The younger twin nodded firmly to emphasize the point. "You have my trust, too." Legolas did not release his hold on Aragorn's hand, but he looked from one Peredhel twin to the other, a steely determination in his eyes that needed no words.

Elladan rose silently after a moment, to tend to the fire, and the three friends settled into the watches of the night, bound by their common purpose and love and friendship. Bound by the promise of Hope.

* * *

The sun rose in golden splendor, the rosy tints of dawn spilling over Imladris as a messenger of good fortune, and Legolas could only hope that it would be so. The heavy grey clouds had broken up overnight, and the skies dared to be blue as in midsummer. Today would be unusually warm for the season, Legolas realized, and that was no bad thing; in time, it would mean a drier trail and less mud over the course of the day.

Aragorn's fingers curled a bit in his hand, and Legolas looked back down as his friend stirred but did not fully awake. In the early hours prior to sunrise, the fever had returned although it was not yet so high as to steal Aragorn's mind again. The human had wakened once during those hours, disoriented and suffering a sick stomach as a result of the constant headache. Legolas had done what he could to soothe his friend's discomfort and had given the ranger more water before coaxing him back to sleep.

The door opened, admitting Elrond. The Elf Lord crossed the space between them and leaned down first to check upon his foster son, taking note of the fever and the nearby empty basin that Legolas had kept at hand.

"Upset stomach?" Elrond inquired quietly, and Legolas nodded. Elrond had half-expected it; the fever and headache would be enough to nauseate anyone.

"Some time ago, my Lord." Legolas confirmed. "Though he's been able to keep down some water since." Elrond nodded approvingly, his hand moving from Aragorn's pale face to grip lightly at Legolas' shoulder.

"The horses are ready below." Elrond said softly. He knew Legolas was well aware that the time to depart was at hand, but he also knew that the Silvan elf would give anything to stay. "Elladan and Elrohir are waiting for you there."

Legolas smiled wanly; of course, the twins would see him off. After their discussion the night before, he knew the confidence of this Noldorin household was with him. For a long moment, the blonde elf was motionless, simply holding Aragorn's hand as he had through most of the night. Swallowing tightly, Legolas very gently slid his hand away from Aragorn's hand and watched hesitantly as the warm fingers curled loosely upon the bed. Taking a steadying breath, Legolas leaned down until he was close to the sleeping ranger's ear.

"Ilúvatar hebo le, mellon nin. Baw anno am, Estel…maetho sen an ammen. Gwesto an le, telio ad an Imladris." _Ilúvatar keep you, my friend. Don't give up, Estel…fight this for us. I swear to you, I will come back to Imladris_. Legolas rose now, sapphire eyes troubled but he said nothing of that to Elrond now. He simply inclined his head in deep respect and placed his hand upon his heart. "Navaer." He said simply, his hand moving outward from his chest in a gesture of farewell.

"I galu o sen herth na am le." _The blessings of this house be upon you_. Elrond replied, also placing his hand upon his heart in parting.

Legolas' steps were swift and purposeful; he did not look back. He feared that if he did, he would be tempted to remain with Estel, although that could not be. Retrieving his weapons from the guestroom that he hadn't even slept in, the slender elf strapped on the quiver of arrows and ivory-handled knives. Taking up his bow, he hurried down the stairs and out into the courtyard where the twins waited, a pair of horses nearby.

"You should have taken the red tunic with you." Elrohir jested as the archer approached them. Legolas wasn't even certain who had seen to his muddy, soaked clothing in his haste to join Estel, but he was clad in his woodland riding garb once again, the jerkin smelling faintly of lavender.

"What, and have some poor Dúnedain warrior go blind from that ugly thing?" Legolas shot back, a grin spreading across his features at Elrohir's expression of pretended shock. Slinging his bow for the purposes of riding, Legolas approached the milky-footed horse that Elrohir had provided him, holding out a hand and allowing the steed to bury his nose in Legolas' palm. The Silvan elf glanced around, but saw only the twins with him in the courtyard. "Who is to come with me, mellyn nin?" He asked curiously.

"Lord Elrond left the task of accompanying you to me, Thranduilion."

The amused tone belonged to none other than Glorfindel, and Legolas' jaw nearly dropped in surprise. Clad in riding clothes, and carrying his weapons, the balrog-slayer bore an expression that was equally amused. "Do not look so surprised. I will not suffer anyone the need of riding to Mirkwood to bear your father ill news."

"I think," Elladan whispered to Legolas with a hint of a smile, "you would have rather had 'Ro and I go with you."

"I heard that, Elladan Peredhel." Glorfindel said with mock sternness as he lightly mounted his horse and made ready to depart.

The twins, however, had come quite close to Legolas, each in turn clasping the archer's shoulder in farewell, speaking soft blessings upon his quest in the grey tongue, and Legolas bidding them to be well and to watch over Estel. Only those who knew them well would see the slight tremor in the twins' hands, the faint hesitation in Legolas' eyes.

"Navaer, mellyn nin." Legolas finally said, making the same hand-over-heart salute that he had to Elrond and with that, he gracefully leapt onto Lospód's back, the horse impatiently stamping a foot. "Na lagor Lospód…si noro!" _Be swift, Lospód…now run!_ Legolas commanded and with a clatter of hooves, both horses galloped through the gate.

On a balcony above the courtyard, the departure was graced with a softly spoken prayer to the Valar and the hope of a father's heart, and then Elrond returned to the healing room within bearing similar prayers and hope for his youngest son.

* * *

The first hour of their journey passed by without comment, Legolas quite wrapped up in his thoughts and leaving Glorfindel to provide the sharp eyes, ears and attention necessary for their safety. If that was truly Lord Elrond's purpose in sending the seneschal with him, he had no argument to make against it at the moment, as he would prefer the company of his own thoughts anyway.

Glorfindel was aware of much more than just each rustle, scent and motion around them as they rode toward Rivendell's northern borders. He was acutely attuned to the young Mirkwood prince's distress as they rode along. It didn't take much at all to guess at the guilt that Legolas felt, despite the fact that this seemed to be the only viable course of action for Legolas to take, if he were to find a way to save Estel's life. For now, however, he held his tongue, although he would not allow the archer to brood for too long. To rescue Hope, he reflected to himself, it would _take_ hope, and to let Legolas lose himself in his regrets would only hinder their effort to keep Estel on this side of Mandos.

Still, the pain of parting from his suffering friend was yet fresh, and as with all wounds borne of brotherhood, this one would only find its true healing in the reassuring voice of forgiveness, even when there was nothing to forgive. Glorfindel smiled to himself briefly; Estel would gladly give it, and more besides. Not just for his life, should this quest prove successful, but simply for the love of a sworn brother. For now, however, the sting was sharp and Legolas bore it alone. Glorfindel was perfectly fine to let the Silvan elf think it over, but by Elbereth, he was _not_ going to travel all the way to the Dúnedain in total silence. Nor would he be the only one responsible for their safekeeping. Legolas was going to have to snap to and concentrate on their purpose.

"He was so sick this morning." Legolas finally murmured softly, and Glorfindel looked over at his companion, calmly listening. "All I could do was sit with him…knowing that I would soon leave him to his suffering." Legolas' eyes looked down; as if he suddenly found his fingers, wrapped tightly in Lospód's mane, extremely interesting. Another moment or two passed in silence before Glorfindel spoke.

"Estel is not alone, Thranduilion." Usually such formal address made Legolas bristle; for some reason it did not trouble him when it came from Glorfindel, as somehow the seneschal almost made it sound like a term of affection. "You know the love he is borne in Imladris. The Peredhil all regard Estel as their own, and they will do all they can to ease his hurts."

"I would not add to those hurts." Legolas replied quietly. "He was still sleeping when we took our leave." Sapphire eyes looked up now, meeting Glorfindel's gentle gaze. "I know that this is the best hope we have to keep Estel alive, but it _feels_ like I've betrayed him to this enemy. I should be at his side to fight it."

"And how would you fight it, mellon nin?" Glorfindel's tone was easy and gentle, but pointed enough to guide Legolas' thoughts. "You are no healer, but a warrior by training and experience. Perhaps out here is where you are _best_ to fight for him. Do you not think Erú knows where your ability is needed most?" The balrog-slayer smiled a little. "If indeed Estel's suffering is born of poison or some unnatural talent, then there is a real enemy to face and I know of no one who will protect Estel's life more fiercely than you."

Legolas' startled expression told Glorfindel more than anything else that he had hit the mark, and the seneschal lifted his eyebrows in curious reply. It was true; as passionately as Elladan and Elrohir would defend their mortal brother, as skilled as the sons of Elrond were in battle, the balrog-slayer knew that Legolas would outstrip them in sheer ferocity when it came to protecting his most trusted friend and the heir to Gondor's throne.

Legolas lifted his face to the morning sun. As the day was beginning to draw on, so too Anor's warmth was becoming stronger. It was most welcome after the rainstorms of the past two days and as he contemplated Glorfindel's words, the Silvan archer began to shed the some of the guilt he felt at leaving Imladris. It still pained Legolas to be apart from Estel when he suffered so. However, he also began to consider the depth of the faith placed in him—by not only Lord Elrond and his twin sons—but also by Estel himself. It certainly would not be the first time Legolas had placed himself between a deadly foe and his sworn friend. Nor, he reflected with a faint smile, with Estel's incredible talent for drawing the attention of trouble, was it likely to be the last.

"I will defend him with my life, my Lord." The Silvan elf declared, and to his amazement, Glorfindel actually _chuckled_. Legolas felt the tips of his ears burn in slight irritation, but the balrog-slayer simply held up a hand.

"Sîdh, caun neth." _Peace, young prince_. "Iston caro al tithen." _I know you will do no less_. "Now…if you will Thranduilion, let us discuss the path we wish to take up into the northlands."

* * *

Anor was warm, and kind today and that was well. Particularly since all too soon the winter months would come, and like the bitter loneliness the ice would be hard, cold, and unforgiving. She smiled as much as she was able to, for sunshine was such a rare thing within as well as without, and even the mirrors seemed to be kinder today as she paused to look at her reflection in the hallway. Perhaps she would even be bold enough to venture out and allow Anor to embrace her today.

Yes. Yes, she would do that today. Reaching to the small peg, she picked up the cloak that had been her only companion and slipped it on, pulling the hood up around her. Almost eagerly, she hurried down the rest of the hallway—well what passed as hurrying for her—and rushed out onto what was left of the balcony.

The morning breeze had picked up, and the cloak blew out behind her in a billow of fabric, and she clutched it tightly just under her chin, unwilling to let the wind steal what joy Anor would bring her today. The hood close about her face to keep the faint chill away, she simply closed her eyes and lifted her face to the warming rays and almost—almost—laughed aloud.

Today there was no rain; there were no tears. Not like the day that she came here. There had been both then, no kiss of Anor to lighten the burden, no stars to ease her pain. Only memories. Many, many memories had accompanied her here. Down below the path curved away and the urge to take a walk on it struck her. She would not go far; no, she couldn't do that. Just a little time in the warmth of the day, that was all she wanted. The mirrors could wait. The future could wait. For a few minutes, even her pain could wait. Right now, there was nothing but Anor and a path through the late blooming flowers.

If she could have, she might have skipped down the path, as a child would, perhaps even sing… Did she even remember what it was like to sing? That was a thought that stopped her on the way, and she pondered it a moment as she stood there with her face lifted to the sky. There was a heady sense of freedom, out on the path, that hadn't touched her in a very, very long time.

The nearby trees seemed to sing to her, to coax her near, but she would not do that. No, only fear dwelled in those trees. Fear and death. The screams…she could hear the screams. Quickly she turned away from the tree line, seeking the wildflowers and the sunshine. But it was too late; she'd already heard them. They would follow her now, no matter how far along the path she fled.

"Go away." She whispered, clutching at her cloak with both hands. "Please…go away." If anything, the screams grew louder. Tears slipped down her cheeks before she even realized they were there. Panic settled over her briefly as she scrubbed the tears away with the back of one hand. She couldn't let them be seen. For a long moment, she stood frozen to the spot; if she ran forward, they would follow. If she ran back, there would be the mirrors… "Go away…" She sank down onto her knees on the pathway, covering her ears with her hands, begging the screams to take their leave.

Or to take her life, she wasn't sure which.

* * *

Lospód shied back somewhat daintily and Legolas shifted a bit on the horse's back, surveying the mess in front of them with a somewhat discouraged eye.

Water. Rushing, muddied, flood-stage water as it tumbled rapidly at the edges of the riverbank. It was apparent from the ground immediately in front of them that the river had already come down from where it _had_ been, but it was still dangerously high. The bridge some distance downstream had been washed away by the violent waters; leaving the two elves with little choice except to search the banks for another viable crossing. They had been doing exactly that for the greater part of the afternoon with no success.

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said with the sort of patience that could be maddening for even another Firstborn, "We should go to higher ground and make camp for the night." Legolas twisted about sharply to look anxiously at the balrog-slayer.

"For the night." The Mirkwood elf echoed, disappointed. "But the day is not yet spent; there is still light enough to…"

"To what?" Glorfindel interrupted just as patiently. "Daylight will do nothing for us without a way to ford the river. We will shelter for the night and give the river crest time to diminish and begin again in the morning." His eyes, as calm as his voice, remained fixed on the younger elf.

Legolas exhaled sharply in exasperation, mostly because he'd known it long before Glorfindel had said anything that they would have to wait. Unwilling to concede defeat to Arda's whims just yet, he had forged on ahead some distance upstream looking for a passable crossing. The guilt that had plagued him earlier had given way to an anxious urgency, and despite his better instincts, Legolas found himself driven by it.

"Ai…" Legolas' shoulders slumped a little in defeat, knowing they would go no farther north today. A moment later, he was aware of the balrog-slayer guiding his horse quite close, and Glorfindel looked at him compassionately.

"Thranduilion, do not doubt my desire to make haste; I too wish to reach the Dúnedain as quickly as possible for Estel's sake. You see yourself that it would be impossible to attempt a crossing now; to try would risk not only our lives but Estel's also." Glorfindel reached across the small space separating them, clasping his hand upon the archer's slender shoulder.

Legolas merely nodded, feeling a little like a scolded young elfling, despite the fact that he knew Glorfindel did not mean it that way. Of course, he knew that they could not cross the river in its current state; he had only hoped…

"They will have gone to higher ground as well." The archer finally said quietly. "Or perhaps gone back to Talathfen. They would not have risked their families to the flooding." He looked at Glorfindel. "I think we might do better to travel there first before pressing further north."

"That, mellon nin, is well suggested." Glorfindel smiled a bit. "To Talathfen we will go. And now…let us see to our own arrangements for the night." Legolas nodded once before turning restless eyes back toward the swollen river and the wooded bank on the far side, his mind already on the paths to Talathfen, hoping they would not be too late to catch up to the Rangers with whom Aragorn had been riding when prior to returning to Rivendell.

The sun was sinking farther in the west by the time the pair of elves had made camp and tended to the horses. A little hunting gained them a pair of rabbits for their evening meal and as Legolas worked in the fading light to dress one of them for roasting, he allowed the quietness of the sunset to turn his mind to other camps, other times, other similar tasks.

"_I swear, Legolas by the time you get done with that bird we'll have wasted away to nothing." Aragorn complained teasingly as he laid out his bedroll near to the fire that he'd started some minutes ago. They had managed to hunt a pheasant for their dinner and Legolas had lost the bet between them to see who would have the pleasure of preparing their meal. From the other side of the campfire, sapphire eyes flashed with similar mirth as the elf shot back,_

"_If it were up to you, mellon nin, we would still be hunting for our supper instead of anticipating the taste of it."_

"_What?" Aragorn feigned wounded feelings. "It was not my fault we lost the stag. I didn't ask to be bitten by that snake!"_

_Legolas simply shook his head as he prepared to put the dressed bird upon the spit. Truthfully, Aragorn had been quite fortunate that his boots had protected him well enough from the creature's fangs; the snakebite would have been deadly had it struck flesh instead of the thick leather. Nonetheless, the snake strike had startled both the hunters and the hunted; Aragorn's sharp cry had put their quarry to flight._

_Moreover, Legolas had pronounced with a broad smile, it was _his _job to see to it that Aragorn received proper teasing about it._

"_Some Ranger you make, Estel, if you cannot even watch where you put your feet." The blonde elf replied lightly, the dance of the firelight reflected in the merry glint of his eyes._

"_Wait just a minute, Your Perfect Elf-ness, just who was it that got you out of that Orc cave with nothing but his tracking skills and a hunting knife?" Aragorn brought up as he came around the campfire and sat down next to his friend, a slight grin on his features._

"_Would I have been there in the first place if it hadn't been for you and your brothers…_?"

Legolas paused in his work on the rabbit to gaze into the flickering flames before him. He couldn't help but wonder if he would see another hunting trip with Estel, and a shiver swept up his spine. _Stop it_, he told himself firmly, knowing that such thinking would do little good. Still, the elf's hands trembled slightly as he returned to the rabbit, remembering how he and Estel had bantered together over that meal of roasted pheasant. How as the night sky had revealed the glittering stars above they had stargazed, talked of things both trivial and important as they often did. How they had planned new tricks to play on Elladan and Elrohir in response to the pranks the twins had played on them and how, eventually, they had fallen into simple companionable silence, just watching the stars twinkle above them until Estel had fallen into a comfortable sleep and Legolas had taken the first watch.

There had been other hunts, of course, other adventures. Scouting trips with the Dúnedain, or with the twins. Visits by one or the other to Mirkwood or Rivendell. Journeys on errands for their fathers. Any excuse, Elladan often said, to get into, find, or make as much trouble as they possibly could.

Legolas smiled faintly as he looked into the west, watching the sunset as he tended to their supper, and after a moment, he was aware of Glorfindel settling down next to him. The two elves were silent for a few minutes as the balrog-slayer contributed to their meal from their provisions, some fruit and a skin of water. The meat would not be ready for a while but Legolas was glad enough to take one of the slices of apple that Glorfindel offered him.

"It has been some time since I have been to Talathfen." Glorfindel remarked absently, drawing the younger elf's attention. "I wonder if Eólin yet rides with our friends…" At Legolas' puzzled look, the seneschal continued, "Eólin is a Ranger I met some years ago." Glorfindel smiled a little. "Lord Elrond had sent out a party of scouts into the North and we crossed paths with this brash young Dúnadan who, to think of him now, reminds me a great deal of Estel. Eólin had the unique opportunity to save my life." At that, Legolas' eyebrows shot upward, a curious expression crossing his fair features, and Glorfindel laughed a little. "Would you care to hear the tale?"

Legolas recognized what Glorfindel was trying to do for him, and unbidden a small smile of gratitude crossed the archer's features as he nodded silently. For his own part, Glorfindel was well aware where Legolas' thoughts must have wandered and while he could not—would not!—replace Estel in the archer's heart, he could at least provide some companionable conversation around the fire for the young prince of Mirkwood this night.

The sun gradually sank beyond the horizon, and the first stars began to gleam above as the seneschal spun the story over their meal together. As Legolas listened, he tipped his head back to gaze at those few stars now visible, and vowed deeply in his heart that he would take no joy in the night sky until he could gaze on the stars with Estel once more.

* * *

Dawn crept over the horizon almost meekly, as if Anor was shy to rise up and greet Arda. Legolas rubbed his eyes just as reluctantly, a sort of disappointed tiredness clinging to him until his ears once more became aware of the nearby rush of water. Rolling up onto his side, he gazed out over the river from their position on higher ground. Sharp-eyed as he shrugged off the last shreds of sleep, he surveyed the riverbank.

"The crest of the river has fallen far enough overnight that we should be able to find a good fording point today." Glorfindel's voice greeted him as the seneschal stretched a bit from sitting on watch. Legolas blinked a little again, sitting up now and pushing blonde hair out of his face. Glorfindel offered him some fruit and water, and together they broke their fast as quickly as possible, both of them wanting to be on their way.

"It looks as if the weather will be good again today as well…I hope that if the Rangers _are_ in Talathfen that they remain there long enough for us to arrive." Legolas observed as he gazed at the rosy horizon. The last of the stars to be banished from the rule of day still twinkled faintly in the west, and the sapphire eyes were briefly troubled as he thought again of Estel being unable to enjoy their light, perhaps forever.

All the more reason to be on their way. Legolas hurriedly finished his breakfast, and quickly set about breaking camp, dousing the embers leftover from the fire the night before and tightly cinched up his bedroll. The horses were well rested after their unexpected delay, and Lospód greeted him enthusiastically, nudging the archer's shoulder firmly as the elf approached.

Legolas patted the horse's neck gently, moving his fingers up into the silky mane. He knew already why this stallion had become one of Estel's favorites despite having named him for his white sock-feet. Lospód was sure-footed and like most elven horses instinctive and responsive to their riders. Mounting the stallion lightly, it only took a few whispered words to set the horse toward the riverbank below.

Glorfindel was not far behind, the seneschal heartened to see that Legolas seemed much steadier after the night's rest. The pair rode down to the riverbank, inspecting along it for a likely crossing, and neither was entirely surprised to find that despite dropping considerably overnight, finding such a crossing was still not going to be a simple matter as the river's speed was still an issue.

"This looks to be as good as it will be, right here." Legolas finally announced as they reached a slightly narrower span of riverbank, and beneath him, he could feel Lospód shift a bit skittishly. Leaning down he patted the stallion's neck reassuringly. "You can do this, mellon nin." He murmured encouragingly. He could tell from the conditions of the banks on either side that this was often a site of fording the river and therefore was not likely to be _as_ deep as other portions normally. Hopefully it would hold true now. Glorfindel sighed softly but nodded in agreement; it appeared to be as likely a place to ford the river as any.

Wrapping his fingers tightly into the stallion's mane, Legolas urged Lospód forward and the horse moved out into the swiftly flowing water. Legolas was surprised to discover that at least on this side of the river, there was a bit of a shelf that seemed to extend away from the bank, as if someone had tried to construct a stone crossing at some point. Uncertain how far out this "shelf" would extend, Legolas was cautious in guiding the horse further out.

There was a sudden dip, and for a moment the horse's footing was unsteady, answering Legolas' question on how far out the makeshift "bridge" extended, and water rushed up around the elf's calves. Cold normally did not affect elves as it would a human rider, but Legolas still found himself sucking in a sharp little breath at the river's icy speed. Lospód regained his footing and moved further out into the river. Legolas risked a glance backward; Glorfindel was not far behind. They were nearly three-quarters of the way across when Lospód once again lost his footing, slipping on the rocks below and Legolas lost his balance completely, tumbling from the stallion's back into the rushing water.

"_Legolas!_"

He heard Glorfindel's horrified shout, but then nothing more as the river current sucked him beneath the surface and he had to fight his way up to the surface to try to grab a breath before being pulled further downstream and under once more.

* * *

In the early morning hours, the relative quiet in the healing rooms of Imladris was disturbed only by Aragorn's fitful, feverish tossing, his discomfort driving him to try to seek a more comfortable position, in vain. Elrond's efforts to soothe the delirious human met with little success, but as yet, there had been no evidence of the terrifying fever-dreams. So it was that the Elf Lord's heart fairly leapt from his chest as the silence was pierced by a single, anguished cry.

"_Legolas!_"


	6. Elrondion

FIVE

Elrondion

_Fire separates us, I cannot see_

_The boundary between thee and me_

_Lost I am, not quickly found,_

_I fear my heart so tightly bound_

_Cannot speak, or warn or teach_

_Wandered far, beyond your reach_

_The darkness takes me, now shuts the door_

_I shall still remember thee forevermore_

Estel's desperate shout for Legolas was enough to tear at Elrond's heart, but he kept his hands steady at his mortal son's shoulders, a point of contact and anchor. Eventually the restless human calmed beneath the Elf Lord's touch and sagged back against the pillows. Shaking his head slightly in anxious concern, Elrond smoothed a palm along the pale face, felt the feverish trembling. A soft moan and several weak swallows indicated another bout of nausea and Elrond quickly and soothingly tended to his son, as Estel was sick. There was little left to lose, producing shuddering heaves and Elrond simply steadied him over the basin. One hand rubbed soothingly along Estel's trembling shoulders, and eventually the bout of sickness passed.

"Ai…ion nin…" Elrond murmured softly, holding the young ranger as only a father could, supporting Estel in his arms as the dark head fell against his shoulder. "What is happening to you?" He did not yet release his mortal son, simply cradling him against his chest protectively. There was no response from Estel; the human was rapidly weakening under the illness' relentless assault. Aside from feverish shivering, his foster son made no movement and spoke no word. The sharp cry for Legolas had carried such a desperate note in it…

"Ada?" Elrond looked up to see Elrohir slipping into the room still clad in nightclothes, a tired cast to his youthful features. At the sight of his brother lying limply in his father's embrace, the younger twin's breath hitched in his throat. "He's not…Estel isn't…" He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'dead'.

"Fear not, Estel is still with us." Elrond replied softly, gently shifting the suffering ranger back down to the comfort of his bed. As if to confirm that assessment, Estel moaned aloud, and Elrond again touched his face compassionately. "The pain he suffers is growing, not just in body but in his mind as well." Elrohir could not miss the ache in his father's voice and he quickly entered the room fully, coming to Elrond's side and kneeling down before him at Estel's side.

"Ada…you know Legolas and Glorfindel will do everything they can to keep Estel on this side of the Halls." Elrohir's voice was soft but underpinned with confidence in the two companions. Elrond smiled warmly at his son's attempt to bolster his spirits.

"I know, Elrohir." The Elf Lord replied just as softly, his hand leaving Estel's cheek and coming to rest atop the crown of the younger twin's head affectionately. "Legolas would go to the Halls himself and fight for Estel if it were possible." Elrond shook his head slightly. "He is as stubborn as his father, although neither one would admit to it." Elrohir was hard pressed not to chuckle at his father's assessment of the similarity between the King of Mirkwood and his son.

"With Estel for company, perhaps such stubbornness is necessary." Elrohir said lightly, and that drew another wan smile from his father. "Valinor knows the trouble they drag each other into."

"And back out of." Elrond agreed.

The younger twin reached over as Elrond had and stroked his hand over his foster brother's brow. "Ada, you haven't slept all night. Let me stay with Estel awhile." Elrohir's silver-grey eyes looked up again at Elrond, a light of concern in them. Despite the truth of his son's words—Elrond hadn't slept a minute—he still hesitated. Something evil was smothering his Estel; he knew it. He could feel it in his heart, threatening to snuff out the noble soul that he had come to love as dearly as his own flesh and blood. "Ada?"

* * *

Fire…ice…pain. It was an endless litany, hot and cold as his body burned feverishly and yet shook with chills…and pain…the pain ever driving him to seek relief but there was none as his head ached mercilessly.

The images seared into him almost as hotly as the fever itself as if somehow they were intertwined…and perhaps they were; he couldn't seem to make himself remember a time when they didn't exist. When they didn't press on his consciousness like the talons of a falcon grasping its prey.

Most of them centered on Legolas, although a few of the disturbing images revolved around his foster elven family as well. Aragorn was helpless against the dreams, the visions, watching over and over again in tormented fear as the archer suffered at the hands of an unseen enemy.

Yet he could not speak it, could not seem to rouse himself past the confines of his prison, his mind held captive by the seductive, silken yet strong and cruel voice of the Star. The same whisper that had allowed him to sleep these past few hours now told him there was no escape from the disaster soon coming on the houses of Thranduil and Elrond, a promise of death. As if to confirm that promise, a terrifying sight was shown him, a raging river sweeping the Prince of Mirkwood from the back of a horse, dragged beneath the rushing waters and carried away. Aragorn was helpless to aid his friend as the elf was taken away, and the only thing he could do was cry out.

"_Legolas!_"

Aragorn thrashed against the vision holding him in such torment but he could not be certain if his efforts were an actual physical struggle, or if it was merely a battle within to free his voice to warn his father, warn his brothers…warn Legolas. The fight drained out of him as it sapped his energy, made him ache, filled his stomach with a hot nausea. He vaguely felt hands lifting him, holding him as he emptied his stomach, thought he could hear his father's voice but he couldn't respond.

There was no more strength after that, and Aragorn fell back against the arms that held him, too exhausted to care if it was friend or foe in his feverish captivity. '_Ro_…he realized suddenly as another voice entered his vague consciousness and he knew his brother was close by. He could feel the fear Elrohir carried for him and by the Valar! He ached to speak to him.

_I cannot allow that, Elrondion_.

That soft yet cold voice, whispering his doom, holding him fast, driving him slowly insane. Aragorn felt his breathing pick up anxiously and his stomach tightened in anticipation of fresh pain, further fears. Somewhere beyond his imprisoned conscious thoughts, he was aware of a hand resting against his face, and he wondered vaguely if it was Elrohir, whose voice he could still hear but could not distinguish the words.

"_Who are you?_" Aragorn demanded, again uncertain if he was speaking aloud or if his words merely echoed throughout his tortured mind.

_That is of no concern to you, adan_.

"_You have made it my concern_." Aragorn fought to put some strength to his defiance; he would not give in. "_The moment you threatened my family, my friends…you _made _it my concern_."

_All you need to know is that I have bound you to me for…a purpose_. A searing pain sliced through Aragorn's consciousness and it was all he could do not to cry out. _I hold your fragile world in the palm of my hand…you are bound to me, the Black Star, and you are mine until my purpose is complete_.

Aragorn simply concentrated on breathing. That moment of pain had been enough to make him see stars, similar to a sharp blow to the head, and he felt sick. The moment slowly faded away and Aragorn dared to take a deeper breath. His prison cell might consist of his own mind, but he would fight to the bitter end for his family…for Legolas, his sworn friend.

"_Death._" Aragorn understood its meaning. "_You intend to kill_."

_Yes…_ The voice whispered silkily. _Death. We have an understanding now, you and I. I will kill them…kill them all_.

* * *

The noon hour had arrived before anyone could convince Elrond to leave the healing room for any appreciable amount of time; it took both the twins _and_ Erestor to talk him into getting some rest after the overnight vigil at Estel's side. Yet there was the inescapable fact that his heart was bound to Isildur's heir as any father to a son, and he felt himself wither a little further the longer Estel suffered.

Even as he paused in the doorway, looking back as Elladan and Elrohir took up station at either side of their human brother's bed, a misty sort of look crossed the Elf Lord's features and he had a hard time tearing himself away.

"_Adar!"_

_The shout from the courtyard below drew Elrond's attention instantly, papers and quill scattered uncharacteristically as he rushed out onto the balcony first; the voice had been Elrohir's—and it had been urgent, prompting the Elf Lord to fear the worst. Once he saw with his own eyes that both his sons had returned well and unharmed, he turned at a more sedate pace to proceed down and out to the courtyard to greet properly the returning warrior party._

_By the time he reached the courtyard, Elrohir had already dismounted from his horse but Elladan had not, the elder twin wrapped in his cloak. Elrond's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as it was rather unlike either twin to be so reserved upon returning home. He glanced at one son, and then the other, recognizing the mirrored expressions of seriousness._

"_What is it?" Elrond demanded immediately. "And do not hold back from me, Elladan. Are you unhurt?"_

"_I am well, Ada." Elladan replied immediately. "Although I am none too certain about the young one." With that, his eldest son drew back his cloak, revealing to Elrond the small, curled up sleeping child tucked within his arm—a human boy. Elrond's brows drew down into a deep frown._

"_Tell me, what happened?" The healer in Elrond was concerned for the welfare of any who suffered, and he reached for the curly-headed adan hên within his son's grasp. Without waking, the exhausted child fairly tumbled into Elrond's arms, and yet only stirred slightly, burying his face into the Elf Lord's tunic._

"_It was Orcs, Ada, in the northlands…"_

"…_burning villages and attacking the Dúnedain…"_

"…_his father was killed and his mother…"_

"…_charged us to bring him here." Elladan finished as he dismounted lightly beside his father. "Look upon his chest, Ada."_

_Elrond did as he was bid, quickly, expecting to find a wound, but instead found a simple chain bearing a ring much too large for the small fingers to wear._

"_Barahir..." Elrond gasped, startled. His head jerked up and he fixed his gaze on Elladan, who nodded. "Gilraen…is she…?"_

"_His mother lives, aye." Elrohir answered quickly to ease his father's concerns. "She felt this attack was directed by the hand of the enemy and that her son would be safest here in Imladris."_

"_She is traveling northward with the rest of her kin." Elladan added. He paused a moment before continuing. "It is not the first time Imladris has offered refuge to an heir of Isildur."_

_Elrond recognized the persuasive tone in his son's voice and he simply raised an eyebrow at his eldest before glancing down at the little boy in his arms. Beneath the mop of curly, tangled hair, the child bore a resemblance to his father Arathorn. Sighing softly, he knew what such a guardianship would mean. Elladan promised to take the child as his own responsibility if that were necessary, but Elrond simply shook his head._

"_By what is he called?" He simply asked, and Elrohir responded now._

"_Aragorn._"

Elrond shook himself from his reverie and watched a moment longer as Elrohir gently sponged down Estel's feverish face, and Elladan whispered soothing words to his mortal brother. At last, he left the doorway and proceeded to his own chambers, but instead of to his bed and rest, the Elf Lord sat at the wide window that overlooked the gardens Celebrian had so loved. As he gazed out at the fading blooms of early fall, he considered his three sons, two of his blood and one of his soul.

From the day they had brought Estel home as a child to this moment, the twins had been fiercely loyal, coming to love the human as their kin. He felt a fatherly pride in his sons knowing that even now they did what they could to ease Estel's pain, which prompted other memories.

Elladan gathering Estel into his arms when the other elven children had been cruel. Elrohir spending perfectly good days indoors telling Estel stories when the little boy had fallen sick with a bad cold and couldn't go outside to play. The twins playing hide-and-seek with a laughing, mischievous Estel, which somehow always ended up in a pile of two elves and one adan battling it out in an all-out tickling match. Even now, Elrond's expression softened into a slight smile as he recalled the shrieking laughter of the small boy and the endless amusement of his older—much older—foster brothers.

As Estel had grown, it was Elladan and Elrohir who took it upon themselves to teach the slender youth in the ways of the sword and the bow, practicing and tutoring, demonstrating and correcting. When Estel's skill had grown in proportion to his lessons, they began to take him on hunts, ever protective, as there was still evil that would seek to take the life of Isildur's heir.

It was the twins who escorted Estel to the northern border of Rivendell that fateful day, along with Legolas, when after learning his true heritage and the path placed before him that he chose to join the Dúnedain for a time. There had been both pride and sorrow that day in Elrond's heart; pride that the boy he had fostered as his own had become a man of honor, one who would fight alongside his fellow Rangers to protect the land from the growing press of evil. Sorrow that his youngest was no longer a little one to protect and nurture; those days had fled faster than the swiftest river. Sorrow that Estel still so doubted his own course in the world, doubted his ability to become the King had been born to be.

In truth, Estel had loved his foster family deeply in return. As a small boy, there had been no shortage of childish gifts created from whatever materials he could talk Glorfindel into letting him have. Stories from his own imagination, tales of dragons and brave elven warriors and songs were just as likely gifts, performed with all the energy only a child could have. His human heritage in the small circle of elves occasionally caused him childhood pains but Estel knew he was loved without question in Imladris, and he loved without question in response.

As a young man, he learned to be healer, friend and Ranger to his family as well. On one occasion, he had stayed at Elrohir's side for weeks when 'Ro had taken an injury severe enough to fall into a coma. It was Estel who had taken the time as well to soothe Elladan's guilty conscience, mending the emotional wound caused by Elrohir's coma, sharing the joy when Elrohir finally awakened. At another time, Estel had been the one to find the twins when they had gone missing and been trapped in a cave-in, and once when a plot against his foster father had been uncovered, it was Estel who had quite literally saved Elrond's life.

It was more by far than a matter of proving his worth, but a matter of weaving hope into the hearts and souls of the Peredhil, for few there were beyond Imladris who knew Estel's true identity. In the process of weaving such hope, Estel himself had become part of the fabric of their souls, and it was this truth more than any other that made Elrond's despair all the greater.

For it was not for the Hope of Men that he now wept…

…but it was for the Hope of his heart and his home. None knew that much more than Isildur's betrayal had found some peace that day; for he had spoken of it to no one, not even Glorfindel but the wounds left behind by Celebrian's loss had been soothed as well. The small adan child had reawakened a place in Elrond's heart, shut away for too long, and Elrond had allowed himself to dream as a father dreams once again.

The dream was being crushed…Estel was being crushed before their eyes. Tears coursed silently down the Elf Lord's cheeks as he gazed upon the withering blooms of fall as he imagined the last ragged tatters of his heart failing with them.

* * *

"You'd better hurry up and get well." Elrohir said softly as he plied the cooling cloth along his mortal brother's face, keeping his tone light. "You know how 'Dan gets when he's worried about you." He looked up at Elladan, who was holding Estel's hand with a soft smile. "Like the time you fell down the old well and got stuck when you were small. Do you remember how upset he was? I swear he could not even think."

"Do not stay away too long, gwador nin." Elladan agreed, his grip tightening a bit on Estel's hand. "Else 'Ro will become totally dependent upon Glorfindel to play his pranks upon, and you know how unpleasant that would be." Elladan's voice was as gentle as Elrohir's, his eyes watching carefully for any movement, any sign of recognition.

Since Estel had collapsed in Elrond's arms earlier, he had been mostly unresponsive, aside from a few soft moans. His eyes had remained closed; his hands limp as if there was little strength left in them. Despite Estel's semi-conscious state, they had managed to coax more water into him, watching over him carefully as feverish thirst prompted him to instinctive, albeit weak swallows. So far none had come back up, which Elladan could only hope was a good sign.

However, the occasional wince in the pale mask told the twins that their work was far from done, that Estel suffered still and so they remained, tending to him gently, speaking to him comfortingly. Although, Elladan had to admit, he was uncertain whether they spoke more for Estel's comfort or their own.

"Besides, Estel we are due for a good hunt, the three of us and Legolas…" Elrohir began, and then faltered. Estel's terrors had centered upon the woodland elf; he did not wish to trigger another round of delirious dreams. However, there was no response from their mortal brother and he hesitantly continued. "The cellars need stocking anyway and it would give us all a chance to catch up with one another."

"Do you remember the last time we all went hunting, 'Ro?" Elladan murmured; a slight rising of his eyebrows.

"I'm sure Legolas has forgotten all about that." Elrohir replied quietly, turning to dip the cloth into the basin for another pass over Estel's fevered skin.

"Forgotten about being pushed into the lake?" Elladan retorted cheerfully. "Silvan or no, he'll live just as long as you do and I'm sure he remembers all about it. Including the fact that you, how did Ada say it, 'practically tried to drown the prince of Mirkwood'?"

"_Drowning_..."

The whispered word was the first indication of conscious thought from Estel in some hours, and Elrohir leaned in closely.

"Estel?" He murmured, holding the cool cloth to his brother's forehead, little droplets of cool water trickling along the pale temple. "Estel, do you hear me?" Beneath Elrohir's touch, the human's head turned just slightly, igniting some hope of returning lucidity. "Echuivo, gwador nin." _Wake up, my brother_. However, there was no further response from Estel, and Elladan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I do not think he can, 'Ro." He finally said softly, a painful look in his eyes. Elrohir did not answer, his crestfallen look speaking for him as he silently glanced out the window, which afforded a view onto a beautiful day. A day that Estel could not enjoy with them, and a crystal tear slid along the younger twin's cheek.

"Except that he suffers mortal illness, it is though he fades as an elf." Elrohir murmured brokenly. Quietly he rose and wandered to that window, looking out as the sun filtered through the trees. There was no disguising the heaviness of heart; even if Elladan hadn't been close enough to see his twin or hear his voice, there was an echo of Elrohir's sorrow lodged in his own heart.

"Do not leave us so soon, gwador tithen." Elladan whispered now to Estel, clasping the hand he held in both of his own. "You are greatly missed." He hadn't thought of such a comparison before, but Estel did indeed bear the appearance of a fading elf whose spirit was too far gone to return. Swallowing tightly, the dark-haired elf stroked his fingers gently over the back of his mortal brother's hand. "Do not leave us." He repeated again, feeling tears gathering in his own eyes. After a moment, Elladan too rose from Estel's bedside and came to his twin's side, placing a hand upon Elrohir's shoulder.

"I cannot bear it, 'Dan." The younger twin said softly, casting his gaze downward. Elladan tightened his grip upon Elrohir's shoulder. "It is too soon to lose him, muindor." Elladan nodded silently, holding tightly to his twin.

"We must be strong for Ada..." He said quietly, firmly. "Estel's illness weighs heavily on him." Elrohir looked up now, and mirror images of concern gazed at one another. "He bears the same grief that he did when Naneth sailed; he feels just as powerless to keep Estel with us. We _must_ not give up, 'Ro. Legolas has only just gone, and he swore to return. It is up to you and I, muindor nin to have faith…Estel and Ada need us."

Elrohir drew in a slow, shaky breath before nodding his agreement.

"Then let us sit with Estel and tell him tales as we used to do whenever he was ill as a child." Elrohir smiled a little. "And sing him the songs of Loríen and speak of the plans we will make when he is well."

"And pray the Valar will deliver to Legolas that which we need to keep him with us."

"Aye...and pray the Valar."

* * *

Elrond wasn't quite certain when he had dozed off in the chair, but as he awakened now it was clear that some time had passed. The sun was farther west, although it was not quite dusk. The light had since shifted away from Celebrian's gardens and there were long shadows cast along the pathway. Long fingers reached up to rub his eyes and a ragged breath escaped him.

"There was a time," A quiet voice said from the doorway, "when sighs like that filled all of Imladris."

Elrond looked up to see Erestor standing there, and a faint smile crossed his features. The advisor wore a concerned expression, and Elrond motioned the other elf into his chamber.

"There was a time," Elrond agreed quietly, "when those sighs had cause to fill this house." He motioned toward the gardens. "Her touch remains and yet…some places never mend completely."

"Hir nin, that may be so," Erestor agreed. "But some of those places once found rest in the laughter of a child." The comment earned the advisor a slightly curious expression from his lord; only Glorfindel had dared to be quite that…direct with him when it came to Celebrian or Estel for that matter.

"That 'child' is a grown man now, Erestor." Elrond reminded with a slightly amused shake of his head. "No matter how much we as Eldar would like to deny it, Estel has reached his majority by some years now."

"As he was so eager to remind you when he spent his days here with you in Rivendell, rather than the northlands of his kin or the fleeting peace of solitude." Erestor said quietly, finally coming closer to the window and glancing out at Celebrian's garden as well. "Ever has he called this place home; whenever he has need of refuge, his heart has driven him here." Long moments of silence passed between the two old friends, and at last, Elrond spoke.

"His heart is failing." Another of the heavy sighs slipped out, and the Elven Lord raised his gaze from the gardens to his fellow Noldorin. "Not of his human mortality but…of something deeper and darker." Elrond swallowed tightly before looking back at the garden, fading with fall's coming chill. "There is no refuge for him here. Not against this."

"There is still the refuge of a father's heart, Lord Elrond." Erestor dared to say, and he did not miss the small shiver that passed through the Elf Lord. "You may not be able to aid him by your craft, but you certainly may aid him by your care." Erestor paused a moment, before placing a hand upon Elrond's shoulder. Perhaps it was not protocol, but it _was_ heartfelt. "Whatever else destiny may call him or fortune bring him, he is still Estel. And you are his Ada."

Elrond felt the hand upon his shoulder and he looked up into the face of his friend, his expression troubled. "And when I cannot save him, Erestor? I will not look upon him again, as I will Celebrian."

"If the Valar so will it, then he will depart for Mandos' Halls wrapped in your love, mellon nin." Erestor's expression was frank. "If there is a way to save him, Glorfindel and Legolas will find it. The best thing you can do for Estel is to be the strong Ada he has always loved." The advisor smiled slightly; he too remembered the small human boy chasing after his elven brothers and who loved nothing better than to sit in his Ada's lap listening to a story or song in the Hall of Fire.

"The first rule of healing…" Elrond replied, his tone somewhat self-depreciating. "…is to set aside your own pain to focus on easing the pain of others." He drew a deep breath, still heavyhearted but feeling a little steadier than he had upon awaking. "Are you giving me lessons in healer-craft, mellon nin?" The Elf Lord offered a small smile now, and Erestor returned it encouragingly.

"By no means, hir nin." The advisor was quick to say, but his tone too was a bit lighter. "Only to remind an old friend that he is more than just a pair of healing hands." The grip at Elrond's shoulder tightened just a bit. "And that he does not bear this burden alone."

"I never have." Elrond replied at last, a slight nod. Between Glorfindel and Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir, there was no burden that Elrond had ever faced alone and this was no exception. "Hannon le, Erestor. As ever you have spoken just as I should hear."

"Even _you_ need a friendly voice at times." Erestor replied, with a slight inclination of his head. "You may be wise Lord of Rivendell, mellon nin, but you are not infallible." Elrond had to shake his head slightly at that; Erestor's sense of humor, couched within a very dry delivery rarely failed to draw a reaction from those around him. With a respectful nod, the advisor took his leave and Elrond drew a slow, steadying breath as he considered his friend's advice.

Could he simply sit by and accept his son's fate, whatever that might be? Would he be able to bring Estel some sort of comfort that went beyond his healer's hands? To be so helpless in the face of such obvious suffering in one he loved was eerily akin to those days at Celebrian's side, struggling to find a solution that would keep her with him here in Middle Earth.

Quietly Elrond's gaze left Celebrian's gardens and redirected to his hand, resting upon his knee. He had never resorted to using Vilya on behalf of his human son, even during some more desperate fights for Estel's life; for to use the ring in such an endeavor would serve to draw unwanted attention to Estel's existence, possibly to his true identity. Elrond swallowed tightly; how could he rescue Aragorn only to thrust him into further dangers? No, as tempting an idea—and it wasn't the first time he had considered it—as it was, he must leave Vilya out of this battle. Somehow, he would find a way to keep Estel in this realm until Glorfindel and Legolas returned with the vital information that would save his life.

Even if that way simply entailed the gentle touch of a loving hand.


	7. Aleneth Nameless

SIX

Aleneth (Nameless)

_Our path goes forever on,_

_Until, it parts and we are gone._

_Thee to left and I to right,_

_Apart within the threat of night._

_Forget me not I bid thee,_

_Thy name kept always dear to me._

_Carry on I shall, I must!_

_Unbroken honor, unbroken trust_.

The river was like ice; Legolas could feel the cold penetrating even his elven senses, and as he fought his way up to the surface once again, he struggled to make his way to the near shore. However, the current was swift and strong, stronger than any against which he remembered trying to swim.

There was a sharp crack, as the current dashed the helpless elf against a tree trunk also caught up in the flood currents, and Legolas knew that his bow was the likely casualty, as he himself had been spared from much hurt. However, in the next moment, the capricious current turned him about and drove him directly against a boulder jutting out from the riverbank. This time instead of a loud _crack_, there was simply a sickening _thud_ as his head connected with the rock face. For a brief moment, Legolas was dazed enough to nearly slide beneath the swirling, icy waters as unconsciousness threatened, and then he regained his senses enough to clutch at the edges of the jagged rock.

It took some work, and nearly all the strength he could muster against the swiftly flowing river, but Legolas managed to climb up onto the boulder, and he clung to it while he regained his breath and wiped water from his face. He laid his head upon the cool stone surface, breathing hard. Closing his eyes, he fought the twin sensations of dizziness and nausea that rushed over him, but he held tightly to his new perch above the floodwaters.

Eventually he dared to open his eyes again, and lift his head. The boulder upon which he laid seemed almost to be a miniature island unto itself as the river flowed rapidly on either side. However, the distance between the riverbank and the boulder was close enough to make a jump for it. Legolas put his head back down and waited a handful of minutes more, gathering himself before mounting the effort for such a leap.

He landed hard, and awkwardly; Legolas felt his ankle give beneath him as he fell with a sharp cry onto his side. For several moments, he simply laid still, coughing out what river water he had managed to inhale, and shivering miserably as his damp clothing clung to him. Despite the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him, Legolas had a passing thought of regret for that lovely scent of lavender. After a moment, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and irritably shoved wet blonde hair from his face. He had no idea how far downstream he had been carried, but at least he was on the correct side of the riverbank now, and could continue the journey northward once Glorfindel caught up to him.

If Glorfindel caught up with him. For a brief moment, Legolas wondered anxiously how the balrog-slayer had fared in crossing the river. Sighing softly, Legolas started to get up. He sucked in a pained gasp as he realized that between his twisted ankle, and what was likely a concussion, he wasn't going anywhere soon. Falling back to sitting, he took a moment to survey his surroundings—and his situation. The bow wasn't broken, amazingly enough but it was cracked, which would render it highly inaccurate and susceptible to breaking during use. Which was just as well, as most of the arrows in his quiver had been swept away by the river; only two remained and neither of them were in any condition for shooting.

That left him with his knives; thank the Valar both were still with him, and neither appeared to have suffered any damage. Legolas sighed heavily; the bow had been a gift from his father to him on his begetting day just a few years ago, and he was disappointed to have it ruined already. Sapphire eyes scanned the area around him despite slightly blurred vision; daylight at least worked to his advantage. Orcs usually roamed at night, and it was early enough that if he had not far traveled downstream, Glorfindel should be able to locate him before nightfall.

Getting to his hands and knees, dragging the damaged foot behind him, Legolas climbed further up the bank and leaned against the broad bole of a large tree along the riverbank. Shivering lightly, the Silvan archer closed his eyes briefly and gathered his composure.

Glorfindel would find him soon. Settling that in his mind, Legolas opened his eyes once again and set himself to keep watch.

* * *

"_Legolas!_" Glorfindel's cry echoed desperately against the roaring rush of the floodwaters. The Silvan elf's blonde head had disappeared from sight almost immediately upon being pulled from his horse by the river. The balrog-slayer's own steed struggled to remain upright. Just a little further down, Lospód was awkwardly clambering up the riverbank just a few yards downstream, fortunately on the correct side of the river. A few minutes' more time and Glorfindel also had made the crossing. Calling Lospód to follow, Glorfindel hastened his mount downstream to search for the son of Thranduil.

_Valar help me if he has come to harm_. Glorfindel shook his head. He may have slain a balrog, may have faced Orcs, evils and dangers but he had no wish to face the king of Mirkwood with the news of his son's death. Senses on high alert, Glorfindel swept the riverbank, the river, a tide of worry in his heart rising each moment that passed with no sign of the Silvan archer. "Legolas!" He risked calling out, but there was no response.

Glancing past his shoulder, he noted that Lospód was still following along and that was well. Turning his keen eyes and ears back to the search, Glorfindel nudged his horse's flanks and urged him to continue. "Legolas!"

There was no answer.

The morning hours dragged on, Anor rising high in the sky, and there was neither sign nor sound of Thranduil's son; no answer to Glorfindel's repeated calls.

His throat tightening, Glorfindel pressed onward. It was not only Thranduil he dreaded facing if Legolas should have perished in the raging waters. Such news could only be deadly to Estel; so weakened he would not survive the loss of his sworn brother. Glorfindel's heart sank at the thought; he might press forward to seek Estel's cure on his own but the loss of Legolas would strike such a blow… The seneschal forcefully put that thought from his mind; he had to pay attention to finding the missing archer.

"Legolas!"

* * *

"Are you hurt?"

The soft voice startled Legolas, and that quickly his knife was at the ready for throwing until he realized it was not an enemy that addressed him as the slight figure before him flinched and cried out fearfully.

"Forgive me." He said softly, lowering the blade but his senses still on edge. "It is a rare thing indeed to startle an elf." Legolas jested lightly, to diffuse the tense moment, but in the same instant realized he must have been drifting dangerously close to sleep despite the pounding ache behind his eyes.

"Baw, goheno nin." _No, forgive me_. The grey tongue further startled Legolas as his unexpected visitor was cloaked and he could not totally see her features. Her voice was melodic and gentle, and Legolas relaxed in spite of the fact this woman was a total stranger to him. "Al thelo gedi le ego tirith." _I did not mean to catch you off guard_.

Legolas had to admit to being intrigued by this woman standing before him. She seemed to have coalesced into existence from the surrounding trees, clad in simple clothing and garbed over that with a somewhat abused, but voluminous, cloak. The hood hid her face nearly entirely; he could only catch a glimpse of a pale chin. But he had a good view of her hands, slender and delicate looking, but somewhat roughened with work and presumably the hardships of life.

"Will you not show me your face?" He asked at last, still speaking in the grey tongue. There was distinct hesitation on the part of the woman, and yet Legolas did not sense any malice or danger from her. A slight trembling of her hands was the only indication of distress, but her mellow voice finally answered him.

"Al presto le, hir nin." _I would not disturb you, my lord_.

At that, Legolas frowned. _Disturb me…_? He wondered briefly to himself, and following hard on the heels of that was the realization that she had addressed him formally.

"Iston le?" _Do I know you_?

"No, my lord." The soft-spoken woman switched back to the common tongue, and she shook her head a bit. "Are you hurt?" She repeated at last, a slight note of concern within her words. "You are soaked through…did you fall into the river?"

"Aye." Legolas finally satisfied her questions. "Sadly, both are true." The Silvan elf sighed a little. "My horse slipped attempting to ford the river and I was carried downstream. My ankle has been badly turned, and I'm afraid my head aches enough to have produced two of you." Legolas blinked a bit, trying to clear his vision. Slender hands moved instantly to examine the twisted ankle, and there was almost a healer-like quality to her motions. Legolas glanced upward; Anor had traveled a fair piece of its journey across the sky and the archer wagered it was close to the noon hour.

"It does not appear to be broken." She said at last. "Does it pain you much, my lord?"

"Please…" Legolas said softly, with just the barest hint of exasperation. "…lady, it is Legolas. Do me the favor of addressing me by my name and it will be well." The slender, cloaked figure froze for a moment, but at last dipped her head a little in agreement. Legolas favored her with a warm smile, and continued encouragingly. "May I have your name in return, my lady?" There was another pause, longer this time, and the soft voice answered.

"Once I had many names." She said sorrowfully. "The evil spreading out from Mordor has taken most of them from me." She shrugged a little, her head still down, and Legolas felt a sympathetic pang for her. "My lor—Legolas, your injuries need tending and even an elf should not sit in the cool air so drenched. Please, allow me to offer you aid." She drew closer and one gentle hand carefully swept blonde hair, heavy with water, away from the darkening bruise along the archer's temple where he'd made contact with the boulder to afford her a better look.

Legolas smiled softly; the offer was generous, and her demeanor kindly. Still, he did not know her name or from whence she had come. His hand had not left the hilt of the blade in his lap and he remained alert to his surroundings despite her gentle air.

"And where would you render such aid, my lady?" Legolas replied guardedly, yet politely.

The slender woman straightened away from him, one slim hand pointing just beyond a nearby rise.

"I dwell just over that hill." She answered truthfully.

"And what shall I call you in that place?" He pressed once again, hoping to get her name this time.

"Aleneth." She finally answered softly. "Al garin min." _Nameless. I don't have one_.

Legolas' brows knit together in a deep frown. The sadness with which she said the words seemed to tear at his heart and he could not help but wonder what terrors had overtaken her in order to bring on such despair.

"I have a companion." He said at last, and that seemed to startle her as much as the knife had, and Legolas hastened to explain. "We were separated when I was swept downstream. He will likely be searching for me, and I would not stray too far from the riverbank. He may miss me otherwise and think me lost."

The woman seemed to pause as if considering his statement. After a time, she inclined her head.

"Very well, my lord." She seemed to forget about calling him by his name briefly as she gazed upstream, as if expecting the appearance of Legolas' traveling companion any moment. "At least let me do you the kindness of caring for your injuries." With that, the slender woman set about tearing a pair of long strips of cloth from the hem of the thin overskirt she wore, revealing a silken blue skirt beneath it, and moved once again to the elf's injured foot.

Legolas nodded his assent, hissing only once as delicate hands removed the boot and carefully examined the sprain more closely. Faceless, nameless, the gentle hands wrapped the swollen ankle deftly as if she had been a healer all her life. Once satisfied with the work, she rose and retrieved a nearby fallen branch that was thick enough to employ as a footrest, and she carefully propped the damaged foot up.

"Hannon le, Miluiel." Legolas said softly, smiling when his benefactor hesitated. "Now you have a name…in thanks for your kindness."

"Thank you…" The woman murmured softly, and she rose a moment later as if she would take her leave.

"Wait." Legolas reached up toward her. "I fear I've taken too strong a blow to my head…I dare not risk falling asleep. Please, stay. Talk with me. I would be grateful for your continued company."

Hidden within the hood from the Silvan elf's sight, Miluiel smiled mirthlessly.

* * *

"And when Ada caught up to 'Ro and I…" Elladan paused in his storytelling to catch at the hand that flailed suddenly in the air as if Aragorn was trying to find his way, or grasp an object in his dreams. "Estel?" He murmured gently.

Elrohir, pouring fresh water into the basin used to keep Aragorn's fever at bay, looked up at Elladan's use of their brother's name. When a weakly whispered call for Legolas answered, the younger twin left his task and immediately knelt by Elladan at the side of Estel's bed. A wordless glance passed between the twins; both knew that in his current condition, Estel would not be able to bear the news of Legolas' departure, and yet the delirious murmuring for the blonde archer tore at their hearts.

Swallowing tightly, Elrohir placed his palm upon Aragorn's chest in a gesture of loyalty before whispering, "Na im, Legolas, mellon nín." _It is I, Legolas, my friend_. In their human brother's feverish confusion, the words were enough, the simple deception comforting his anxious mind. Beneath Elrohir's hand, Aragorn's breathing slowed, calmed from the whispers of panic drifting through his thoughts and he did not stir further.

Of his own accord, Elrohir began to sing as Legolas had done during Estel's fever-terrors, keeping his voice soft and gentle. Twice he faltered as tears threatened to overwhelm him, and both times Elladan took up the refrain, so seamlessly as to be the same voice. As with Legolas' singing before, it appeared to aid Estel's rest, and so they continued from one song into the next, this time singing together in gentle harmony.

"The light of Ilúvatar, given to Arda…" A third voice joined them, and the twins were briefly startled to silence as Elrond's warm baritone carried on with the melody as the Elf Lord entered the room. Elladan recovered first, picking up the familiar strains of harmony easily, and then Elrohir as well lent his voice to the quiet, gentle song.

The three Peredhil gathered protectively around their fallen brother and son; Elrohir's hand rested against Estel's face, Elladan still held the ranger's hand and Elrond, standing behind the twins, had a hand on each of their shoulders. The tender singing wove a thread of comfort around the three Elves as well as the human over whom they kept watch.

As the last notes drifted away into the darkening room, Elrond released his sons' shoulders and moved to light the candles scattered throughout the healing room. Some of the candles were scented with calming herbs, and a sweet smell drifted through the room, adding to the hard-won sense of peace.

"How has he fared in my absence?" Elrond asked as he knelt by the hearth and prepared to bank the fire against the early fall chill that would only deepen with the coming of night.

"He has been very still, Ada…" Elladan started.

"...he's getting weaker." Elrohir finished, and two sets of eyes watched their father anxiously. Elrond paused at that assessment briefly, swallowing down the heavy lump in his throat and calling Erestor's words back to the forefront of his mind. He must not despair; he had to care for his son.

Rising from the hearth once a good fire had been established, the Elf Lord came to the opposite side of the bed from where the twins kept watch and bent down over the pale, motionless ranger. A soft smile touched his features as could only grace a father watching his son sleep, despite the circumstances. So many nights he had watched Estel in just such a manner as a child and there was warmth in the memory. Placing his hand upon Estel's brow, he gauged the intensity of the fever, and then leaned closer to listen to the quality of the human's breathing as his fingers felt along Estel's neck and found the slow pulse.

"We need to do all we can to keep up his strength until Legolas returns." He said at length, before turning his attentions to the herb table and preparing more herbs for treating the fever. "Estel is becoming dehydrated and in need of nourishment…we need to replenish his reserves. Elladan…go to the kitchens and see about having some light broth made. Nothing too rich or heavy or his stomach will not take it well. 'Ro…he needs to be kept as comfortable as we can make him. Fetch some cool water for the fever."

Before Elrohir had even returned to his abandoned task of refilling the basin, Elladan had risen from the bedside and hurried from the room to obey his father's instruction. Elrond mixed the crushed herbs into a cup of water; normally he would have made the infusion with a mild tea, but he was both uncertain how the tea would settle on Estel's stomach and concerned that the need for simple water was far greater.

Sitting on the edge of the bed that Elladan had just vacated, Elrond brushed his hand gently along Estel's cheek. The touch was something more than simple affection; it was meant to rouse his mortal son as much as he was able. To Elrond's surprise, Aragorn turned his head toward the hand at his face, and the Elf Lord continued the gentle stroking along the high cheekbone. "Estel…ion nin…echuivo, saes." _Estel…my son…wake up, please_.

"_Le…golas_...?" Aragorn's whisper startled Elrond with its weakness, and he was hard pressed to hold back the tears he felt forming in his eyes.

"Estel…" Elrond began to respond, but Elrohir had returned with the basin now, and as he placed it on the nearby stand, the younger twin shook his head a bit.

"Ada…he thinks that _I_ am Legolas." Swallowing once, Elrohir went on to explain pretending to be the absent archer to soothe Estel's restlessness. Elrond nodded, holding no fault with his middle son.

"Estel…" Elrond began again. "Legolas…went out for a time." It wasn't a lie; the archer certainly was out of the room. Just how _far _out of the room did not need disclosure. "Can you hear me, ion nin?" He again pressed his palm gently against his youngest son's cheek, and eventually the blue-grey eyes dazed with pain and confusion fluttered open, much to Elrond's relief. Estel had been so unresponsive through most of the previous night and into the day that Elrond was amazed at his waking.

"_Ada?_" The whisper was just as soft as before, and Elrond shifted his fingers to his son's lips just briefly.

"Shh, Estel. Do not spend yourself on words." The Elf Lord smoothed his hand against Aragorn's face again before sliding it beneath the lightly trembling shoulders and aiding the human to sit up partially. "Simply drink this for me, please. Slowly…you need this and I do not wish your stomach to reject it."

Carefully he brought the cup to Aragorn's lips and the coolness of the water was all the prompting the weakened human needed before he was swallowing thirstily at the liquid, scarcely noticing that it was laced with anything at all. "Easy…easy…take your time." Elrond pulled the cup back a bit, allowing the human's sensitive stomach to come to terms with the cool liquid being forced on it. As the Elf suspected he might, Aragorn choked a moment as if he might vomit, but then the moment passed and Elrond brought the cup back to his son's mouth after another few heartbeats. "Slower this time, ion nin." He instructed once again.

Aragorn resumed drinking the medication, a bit less eagerly than at first, until the cup was drained and Elrond set it aside. Cradling his son in his arms as he had the night before, Elrond reached with his other hand to rearrange the pillows to support Aragorn in a similar semi-sitting position. Easing the weakened ranger back into the soft mound, Elrond's hand returned to brush aside a few stray locks of dark hair damp from the fever and the water used to cool it. Again, to his pleasant surprise, Estel responded to his touch, opening his eyes again and this time he reached out toward his elven foster father.

"_Ada…_" Estel whispered again, an unreasoning fear behind the feverishly bright eyes. "_We must…we must_…"

"Shh, ion nin." Elrond hushed Estel once again, concerned that precious reserves of strength would be exhausted on the efforts to speak. "Rest, Estel…we will do all that needs to be done…I am here and your brothers are with me." The Elf Lord soothed softly. "Do not trouble yourself so…only rest."

"_Morngil...guruthos teli_..." _The Black Star…the shadow of death comes_... "_Ha teli an Legolas!_" _It comes for Legolas_! Elrond's brows gathered into a worried frown. Beyond fever-terrors or delirium, some part of Estel's mind had taken this for fact and there was true fear written in the sickly shine of his youngest son's eyes. There was more, weak pleading for Legolas to be warned, warned of the Black Star and the shadow of death.

"Peace, Estel." Elrond soothed, clasping the hand that had reached for him in both of his own, anxious over the increasing weakness evident in Aragorn's voice. "You _must_ rest. The terrors will not touch you here."

Elrohir had returned with the water basin, and soon the cooling cloth once again traveled over feverish skin. Aragorn closed his eyes, a soft, almost frustrated whimper slipping from his lips. But the peace Elrond had entreated his son to take did not seem to settle upon him.

Elladan returned some little while later, bearing a small bowl of broth as instructed, the fragrant scent reaching them even before he stepped into the room. By this time, Aragorn had quieted somewhat, despite a lingering restlessness that seemed to plague him as if, Elrond thought, he was desperate to speak but could not find the words or the strength to do so.

"Ada?" Elladan said anxiously. Several questions were wrapped up in that single utterance; Elrond could see them in his oldest son's eyes. Elrond simply shook his head a little bit, his own puzzlement evident. He did not know what this Black Star was any more than the rest of them, nor understand the delirious warnings Estel seemed intent on delivering. Elladan approached the bedside now, handing his father the bowl and watching worriedly as Elrond placed his hand once again against Estel's cheek. Elrond found himself holding his breath, hoping that Estel would once again respond to the gentle, persistent palm against his face.

Again, Elrond was pleased to see the blue-grey eyes open, despite the slow struggle to focus, and he exhaled slowly. "Estel…ion nín…" He spoke now, as Aragorn's eyes seemed to lose their focus and began to slide shut once more. "Lasto na nin." _Listen to me_. "Edro hîn lín, saes." _Open your eyes, please_. A flutter of eyelashes and then, with some difficulty, Aragorn was looking at him once again. "Gerin tithen salph; boe mín heb am bellas lín." _I have a little soup; we need to keep up your strength_.

There seemed to be a bit more focus in Estel's eyes; Elrond could only hope that it meant a bit more clarity of mind, away from the delirium and hallucinations. He knew he was taking a risk in feeding Estel the broth; it was highly possible that the ailing ranger's stomach would reject it outright. However, he also knew it had been days since his son had taken _any_ sustenance aside from a little water and it could only add to the danger of his growing weakness.

Speaking reassuringly in the grey tongue, Elrond encouraged his youngest to try a little of the broth and brought the first spoonful to his son's lips. Estel sipped slowly at the thin liquid, the warmth a welcome thing as he still trembled with feverish chills. Elrond paused a moment, gauging Aragorn's initial reaction, and encouraged by the first attempt; he dipped the spoon back into the bowl and brought it up again. Nearly half the bowl was finished before there was any indication of distress, and Elrond set it aside, pleased that he had gotten at least some of it into Estel without difficulty. "Be still now, Estel." He encouraged gently.

Aragorn's eyes slipped closed, and Elrond tenderly pulled the blanket up a little more and tucked it close to quell the tremors that still raced through his son's frame. The medication administered earlier was still running strongly through his mortal son's system and it did not take long for Aragorn to drift to sleep under its influence.

_Whatever else destiny may call him or fortune bring him, he is still Estel. And you are his Ada_. Erestor's words came back to Elrond, and he smiled softly as he simply slipped his hand beneath Estel's, feeling the warm fingers instinctively curl loosely around his palm.

"It's a good sign, is it not, Ada?" Elladan asked with hope as he settled into a nearby chair. "That Estel could take some of the broth without being ill?"

"The better sign is that he seemed to respond to his surroundings a little more. Perhaps that which pains his mind will begin to release him and allow him rest." Elrond replied; his voice also tinged with a slight hope. "But yes, ion nin…it is a good sign that he could eat a little. At least we know Estel still has it within him to fight."

Elrohir's expression mirrored his twin's, and he nodded just as emphatically as he leaned closer to his mortal brother. "Maetho, gwador nín. Maetho norn…tolo ad ammen lagor." _Fight, my brother. Fight hard…come back to us swiftly_.

The clatter of hooves below startled all three elves from their contemplations of Estel's illness, and Elrohir reacted first, straightening away from Estel's bed and moving to the balcony that lined the outside of the room.

"Ada…" Elrohir said as he hurried back into the room. "The riders from Mirkwood are here. Ran and Trey are with them!"

* * *

Dusk was beginning to settle around them, and Legolas was distinctly uncomfortable. Thanks to his mysterious benefactor's aid, the throbbing in his ankle had settled down into a tolerable ache, and she had been more than willing to share her lunch with him, some dried fruit and bread produced from a small satchel beneath her cloak. However, his head throbbed unmercifully despite a cool compress created from another strip of fabric dipped in some water. Worse, Anor had traveled the rest of the path across the sky without so much as a hint or sign of Glorfindel, and he began to be worried that perhaps the balrog-slayer had also been swept up in the rushing river.

They had built a small fire against the growing chill, as Legolas was still rather damp from his own plunge into the icy waters as well as to ward off those nocturnal creatures that hunted at night. Both knives remained out and ready for use should he have to fend off such hunters—or worse, Orcs. Although he had to admit, he was not entirely sure he could force himself to stand long enough to do so.

Legolas knew the sprain should heal fairly quickly, yet he still could not easily put weight upon his injured foot, as he discovered during an embarrassing moment of needing to answer a demand of nature and being unable to walk without aid. Miluiel had given him that aid graciously, without further embarrassment, and despite numerous failed attempts throughout the day to coax her into revealing her face, the Silvan prince had to admit he was grateful for her kindness. The obvious concussion, however, would be slower to heal, despite the fact his elven heritage guaranteed a much swifter healing than a human with the same hurts would.

Legolas' greatest concern, however was that he was failing in his charge to find out what had happened to Estel, and that burdened him far above all else. He knew that come morning he would have to press northward, whether or not Glorfindel had located him; he felt a horrible twinge at leaving the seneschal behind but he did not know what else he could do. It would be a much longer journey by foot and he knew that would take precious time away from Estel…time that Legolas could not spare to launch a search for Glorfindel.

"What troubles you, Legolas?" Miluiel finally inquired softly, despite still being slightly hesitant about addressing him by name. It had been some time since either had spoken; Legolas alternated between watching for Glorfindel's appearance, and inwardly weighing the painful choice he felt forced to make. His heart grieved between his responsibility to Estel and the worry he bore that Glorfindel might have come to harm.

The archer looked up at the hooded figure at length before replying,

"I fear that my traveling companion may not have made the river crossing either. Perhaps he also suffered injury, perhaps worse than I have. Yet I have not the means to search for him." Legolas replied quietly. That was a partial truth, to be certain; he also bore concern for his sworn brother, but he did not yet feel at such liberty to share his quest with Miluiel. She was yet too much a stranger and in these perilous days, it did not always turn out well to reveal too much to strangers.

"Night will have fallen soon." Miluiel said softly, poking at the embers of the fire with a stick, idly watching the sparks fly up into the air. "And another rainstorm approaches. I do not think this is a safe place to pass the night, so close to the river." Legolas exhaled slowly, knowing she was correct there; if the river rose again during the night, they would be too vulnerable here on the bank. Quietly he nodded his agreement but made no move to leave just yet. "It would be something of a walk…" Miluiel continued on. "…but my dwelling is just beyond that rise, and at least you would have a place to take some rest beyond the storm."

"My friend will be out in the storm." Legolas countered. He felt guilty enough without taking his ease in a warm bed while Glorfindel camped out alone and wet, and possibly hurt. "I will not ask you to endure it, Miluiel. All I will ask of you is to help me to a more suitable campsite and then you can return to your own bed. Hannon le for your assistance."

There were several more moments of silence before Miluiel said quietly, "Please, Legolas…it has been a long time since I have had the company of another soul."

Legolas paused at that statement; the request had the same sort of quality her earlier assertion that her face would somehow 'disturb' him. Gazing thoughtfully past her to the crackle of the fire, the Silvan archer wondered once again what could have happened to her to make her this way. At last, he sighed softly and his shoulders slumped; there was little good he could do for either Glorfindel or Estel like this, and he shifted his gaze toward his mysterious companion.

"All right." He agreed. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Come." Miluiel said, her voice betraying the smile Legolas could not see. "If we start now, before the night has fully fallen we should reach my home."

As Miluiel doused the fire, the Silvan prince could only pray the Valar that Glorfindel was safe.

* * *

The clouds gathering ominously on the horizon seemed to signal another downpour, and Glorfindel hunched his shoulders slightly in response, but the balrog-slayer's attentions were on other things weightier than the weather.

The shadows of dusk were gathering all about him, but there had been no sign of Legolas in his search for the Silvan prince. His heart sank heavily as he considered the possibility that Thranduil's son had drowned in the rushing waters, and his eyes once again scanned the nearby river area.

In his right hand, he carried two marred arrows, the fletching almost completely torn off, that had become lodged in the mud some distance downstream from where they'd started. Even in this condition, there was no mistaking these arrows for anyone's other than the Prince of Mirkwood. Glorfindel sighed softly. The only other possibility was that Legolas had been swept much farther downstream than he had originally estimated.

This presented another set of problems. Night was rapidly approaching, for one, and Glorfindel had no clue whether or not Legolas lived, and if he did…in what condition. Already it was quite apparent to the seneschal that even if the Silvan had managed to keep hold of his bow, that he likely had no arrows to fire, making it a useless weapon. If too badly injured, however…the elf would be in danger of predators. Wolves…or worse, wargs. So far, there had been no sign of either on the journey thus far, but even this close to Rivendell wargs sometimes ventured into the northern borders.

Then, there was Estel.

Glorfindel was fully aware that if Legolas had perished that the burden of their mission rested with him. He would have to press north, to the Dúnedain encampment and seek the answers they had come to find. The balrog-slayer's brow furled into a tight frown; an uneasiness filling him briefly at the idea of being solely responsible for Aragorn's survival. There was nothing he would not do for the house of Elrond, including forfeit his life if it ever became necessary. Without hesitation, he included Estel in his loyalties; as a small child, the young adan had squirmed his way into the hearts of more than just Elrond and the twins—and stayed. Glorfindel would not deny that now for the world.

Still, for all his warrior's skills and experience in battle, he carried an almost anxious foreboding about pressing on alone. Perhaps that had more to do with facing the others concerning the loss of Legolas than it did with actually retracing Estel's journeys with the Dúnedain. Either way, he dared not return to Imladris empty-handed. The future of the world of Men was in his hands; as time slipped away with no sign of Legolas Thranduilion, Glorfindel was becoming more and more convinced of it.

"Well, mellon nín…" The balrog-slayer murmured with a gentle pat against his horse's neck, a sad sigh escaping him. "I am at a loss." A grumble of thunder some distance away forced him to consider making shelter for the night, neither search fulfilled. Lightning crackled, and the rain would soon follow.

Glorfindel's decision would come with the dawn.

* * *

Elrohir hurried down the steps to the courtyard with Elladan close on his heels, to greet the arriving party from Mirkwood, as Elrond did not wish to leave Estel alone for even that short a time. As the twins came within sight, the small group dismounted and came to face them. Raniean and Trelan exchanged knowing glances; the twins' appearance bore witness to the urgent situation that they had expected to find in Imladris, given the haste with which Legolas had departed from Mirkwood according to Aran Thranduil. The only information the elven king had given them was that their friend and prince had been summoned to Imladris and that they were to accompany him there.

Only, by the time Raniean had formed the escort and Trelan had readied the horses, Legolas was long gone despite the haste with which they had carried out the tasks. So the riders had simply continued on to Rivendell, knowing that they would at least ride _back_ with their prince once his task in Rivendell was completed.

Elladan and Elrohir offered their guests smiles of welcome, although Raniean noted that they both seemed exhausted with worry and carried a tight set to their shoulders, their expressions; as if the smiles were heartfelt and yet…overshadowed. Instantly worry pierced his own heart as well and he stepped forward, past Trelan and clasped Elladan's forearm in greeting.

"What happened?" He asked immediately, his eyes searching Elladan's face. Perhaps it was slightly rude to ignore a proper greeting, but the anxiety he felt seemed to warrant coming straight to the point. "Aran Thranduil told us nothing except to accompany the Prince to Rivendell. And your messenger did not know what was borne in his message to Legolas. Nor would he have spoken of it if he had."

"Estel…"

"…has fallen very ill." Elrohir finished, his gaze falling. "We thought…"

"…to summon Legolas here, for…"

"…they are gwador and the illness is desperate."

For a moment, there was a shocked silence that fell over the small group from Mirkwood. There was no doubt in any of their minds now why their prince's journey had been undertaken with such haste, nor why Thranduil had told them so little; nor was it a surprise to them now that Legolas was not outside to greet them.

"Ran…It is so good that you and Trey are here." Elladan finally said, coming to himself enough to give a somewhat proper greeting. "Come…we will see your horses to the stables and then see to getting you something more than lembas and fruit."

"Estel is our friend too." Trelan asserted, coming closer to place a hand upon Elrohir's shoulder. "Whatever you need from us, you have." Spoken firmly, the words were the sort of vow that was like bedrock.

"Hannon le." Elrohir murmured softly. He and Elladan were both well aware of the loyal nature of these two Silvan elves, and were grateful for it.

By the time, the horses were stabled and the guard seated around the table in the dining hall, Ran and Trey had heard part of the account of Aragorn's collapse from the twins, but they realized there must be much more to this than they had yet heard as they followed the twins up to the Healing Room.

They had fully expected to see Legolas at Aragorn's side when they entered, but there was a sort of pale shock that climbed into both their faces as they entered behind the twins and there was no sign of the Mirkwood prince anywhere.

"Where is--?" Trelan started, but his inquiry cut short when the twins suddenly hurried forward in an anxious rush toward Aragorn's sickbed.

"What is it?" Raniean exclaimed.

"Ada…?" Elrohir had reached Elrond first, having recognized the glazed sort of look that indicated one of his Adar's visions, and he knelt down in front of the Elf Lord, with Elladan standing just behind. Raniean and Trelan hesitated but did not move; they had known of Lord Elrond's gifts of foresight but had not had much experience in such matters. They watched silently as Elrond slowly returned to himself, blinking and looking down at his son.

At last, he placed a slightly trembling hand upon the crown of the younger twin's head. Elrohir leaned closer, his hand grasping Elrond's wrist. "What is it, Ada? What do you see?" For a moment, there was no response, and then the Elf Lord's expression grew distressed.

"I saw the houses of Mirkwood and Rivendell." The Elf Lord said faintly, his face draining of color. "They were in mourning."


	8. Night Watches

SEVEN

Night Watches

_Long the night, ere the dawn_

_Long the time ere I press on_

_Mirrored here in shadows cold_

_Comes thy memory framed in gold_

_Silver stars, veiled far o'erhead_

_By mists of tidings filled with dread_

_Wait now with me in darkness deep_

'_Til comes the day thy tears I keep_

Miluiel took her time, aiding Legolas in the slow journey from the riverbank to her home; the longer the Silvan elf was on his feet, the worse he felt until he was uncertain of even being able to walk in the morning when he would have to resume his journey. Despite firm wrapping, the ankle protested its use greatly, and dizziness assaulted him in waves, both conditions forcing him to lean much more heavily upon the young woman than he would have liked, but Miluiel was patient and did her best, despite being somewhat shorter than the Silvan elf.

The dwelling they approached had once been stately; Legolas could see that. It was a stone building much like those found in the world of Men, but the thatched roof had fallen in on one side, and the other side while somewhat kept up still looked as if it had seen many years of cruel weather and little care. The closer they came, he could pick out some rudimentary repairs, and he wondered if Miluiel had completed them herself, or if she had somehow received help.

His questions, however, would wait; his concentration was all in walking and reaching the roughened dwelling before the oncoming storm reached them; he was not eager for another drenching after both nearly drowning and having traveled to Rivendell during a downpour to begin with. He would not become ill in such conditions as Estel might, but Legolas could certainly appreciate the simple pleasure of dry clothing, as it seemed to be in short supply of late and he could no longer deny that he needed that warm bed. Perhaps a night's rest would restore him enough to continue his travels north to seek out the Dúnedain.

"Come…just a little farther." Miluiel encouraged as the blonde head dropped forward a bit. The elf's steps had become quite unsteady, and she knew that he would need much rest. The odd pair managed to cross the threshold of the stone structure, and Legolas lifted his head with some effort to regard his surroundings.

There was little in the way of light and for a brief moment, the open-ended entryway had the appearance of an unlit cavern. The observation prompted a shiver to race through Legolas, as he was not fond of caves of any type. At least he knew he was above ground, and the similarity to a cavern ended as they reached the far end of the passageway.

The first thing that struck him about the room they now entered was that it was quite a bit larger than he'd expected it to be from the outside appearance of the dwelling. The second thing that the Silvan archer noted was the abundance of mirrors throughout the place. Some of them hung in delicate frames of gilt and filigree although most of those frames were in dire need of polishing; some were simply bare squares or ovals without decoration. Hand mirrors of the sort women kept upon their dressing tables lay about in various places on shelves or tables. Legolas had to admit a fair amount of curiosity at this; for one far too shy to reveal her face to him; could she truly be so vain? Perhaps was there a certain fascination with the mirrors that prompted her to have an entire room full of them.

However, his questions fled as quickly as what little color remained his face as he swayed abruptly on his feet. Miluiel directed him quickly to the nearest chair, and Legolas sank into it gratefully.

"Hannon le." He murmured softly, one hand coming up to his forehead in an uncharacteristic display of weakness. He would never have done so in the presence of Estel or the twins despite the fact that they all knew him far too well to get away with trying to hide an injury these days.

When he pulled his hand away from his eyes, Miluiel was nowhere in sight, but he didn't think he could regain his feet so quickly and so stayed put. She returned a few moments later with a cup in hand; she pressed it into his fingers. It was simply cool water and again Legolas found gratitude for her assistance.

"Come." She said quietly after he had finished most of the water. "Let me show you to your room." Helping him up again, Miluiel paused while Legolas gained his bearings and she aided him to the other side of the room, through a door and into a smaller room that obviously had once been a study, or something of the like, converted over to a sleeping area. A small bed was in the corner, another pair of mirrors graced the walls, and bookshelves lined the rest of the room. A small fireplace was ready for lighting, and in the gathering shadows of night, he could make out several candlesticks scattered around the room.

Miluiel helped him to the bed and Legolas sat down upon it slowly. Again, it felt good to take the strain off his ankle, and he idly watched as Miluiel first moved about the room to light the candles. There was a familiar ease in her motions and he wondered how long she had been in this place, apparently alone.

"This is your room." He suddenly realized; despite lacking in feminine touches, this sparse little bedroom was fairly neat, and signs of its recent use were about.

From the hearth, Miluiel looked up as she prepared to light the fire.

"It is the only bed, Legolas." She was becoming a little more familiar with using his given name now. "And you are in no condition to spend the night on the floor or in a chair." Turning back to the task at hand, she coaxed the flames along in the fireplace. "I am perfectly fine with either of those options; it is no trouble."

"But…" Legolas began to protest, making to rise, but just that quickly Miluiel was on her feet and a slender but steady hand was at his shoulder, keeping him there. "I would not force you from your own chamber, Miluiel."

"You also," A note of humor actually crept into her voice, "…are in no condition to argue with me, either."

His slender benefactor did not seem inclined to debate, and so reluctantly, Legolas allowed himself to lie down. Immediately, the softness prompted his aching body to relax; only then did he become aware of bumps and bruises beyond his head and ankle. Exhaustion he had not been aware of from the ordeal piled upon him all at once and he actually yawned. Soft laughter answered him as Miluiel started for the doorway.

"Hannon le, Miluiel." Legolas called out softly after her, and she paused in the doorway.

"Îdh mae nuin giliath o Ilúvatar." _Rest well under the stars of Ilúvatar_.

* * *

Rain was breaking out once again over the Last Homely House, pattering against the windows although it was not nearly the storm that had broken out the night Legolas had arrived in Imladris. It was quite the tense knot of elves within the Healing Room. Elladan sat close by Aragorn, keeping a close eye on the sleeping human while Elrohir saw to their father's needs as Elrond recovered from the power of his vision. There were times the Elf Lord controlled his gifts of foresight, but then other times the message of the Valar was impressed upon him, insistently and urgently. Those visions that caught him unprepared as such often left him shaken and this one was no exception.

Raniean and Trelan simply prowled along the length of the room, one on either side, trying to work off anxious energy in the wake of Elrond's revelation, trying to be patient for the explanations that they knew _must_ be coming. At last, Raniean could no longer stand it and he blurted out,

"What in all Arda is going on here? And why isn't Legolas here?"

All eyes were on the Mirkwood elf in an instant and he abruptly flushed a bit, embarrassed but his bearing remained taut as a drawn bowstring. Lord Elrond's eerie pronouncement upon their arrival had done nothing to ease Raniean's worry and close by; Trelan's expression echoed his own.

"Aye." The shorter elf finally nodded, agreeing with his companion. "Where is Legolas?"

Elladan shot the pair of elves a sharp look, which only served to turn the tension up several degrees as Raniean and Trelan frowned back. For as familiar as Elladan and Elrohir were with them, there was no good reason not to receive an answer to this most obvious question. Raniean opened his mouth as if to speak again, but Elrond simply raised a hand.

"Sîdh, Raniean Randomirion." _Peace, Raniean son of Randomir_. The Elf Lord rose, despite Elrohir's worried look, and motioned the two young Mirkwood sentinels to accompany him into the hallway. The two younger elves glanced at each other anxiously, but did as they were bid and followed Elrond into the passageway beyond the Healing Room.

"Goheno mín, saes Hîr Elrond." _Forgive us, please Lord Elrond_. Raniean said quietly, but the underlying dismay was still there. "We meant no insult but we were sent to stand with our prince…"

"You did no wrong, Raniean. I do not fault your concerns for Legolas and neither does Elladan." Elrond soothed, raising both hands partially in a peacemaking way. "Estel suffers from fever-terrors, most involving Legolas. Elladan simply fears upsetting him further, for…" The Lord of Rivendell paused a moment, as if avoiding the words would make it less true. "…for my son grows weaker in the shadow of this sickness."

"We did not expect Legolas would stray from his side in such circumstances." Trelan spoke up now, and his silver eyes betrayed his growing worry.

"Legolas departed from Imladris nearly two days past, seeking aid for Estel." Elrond paused, allowing that information to sink in before continuing. "Something unnatural, dark, is at work in this illness and Legolas sensed it as well. Estel's distress grows, both mind and body, and nothing of the healing arts has brought him much relief. Legolas has taken it upon himself to discover what happened to Estel, in hope of finding a way to cure him."

"We will leave at once, with your permission, my Lord." Raniean said immediately. "His quest shall become ours; if there is a way to save Estel's life, it shall be done." He bowed shortly to Elrond, and Trelan did the same.

"I dispatched Glorfindel with him." Elrond added, to soothe their anxieties. "They travel north, to the Dúnedain with whom Estel spent a little over a fortnight before falling ill. However, you have had a long journey, it is growing late and your men and horses could use the rest. Erestor has prepared rooms for you and your cadre."

Raniean knew that Elrond was right, but that did nothing to curb the strong impulse to simply retrieve his gelding from the stables this moment. He looked over at Trey; he could see the same desire flickering in the shorter elf's silver gaze.

The Elf Lord exhaled slowly, understanding the two young sentinels' deep concern. Not only was Legolas their crown prince, but also their very good and close friend. Certainly, a combination guaranteed to prompt a great deal of loyalty, caution and very particular attention to duty. "I fear if you leave tonight, the rains may impede your journey. Some of the lowlands may be flooding." It was the gentlest persuasion Elrond could think of without insulting either sentinel's leadership skills, as he was already well familiar with the woodland pair's exceptional talents.

At last, after a moment that seemed interminably long, Raniean bowed his head in deference to Lord Elrond's wisdom, knowing that the cadre and horses both needed rest and it would do Legolas no good if they encountered a flash flood in the middle of the night.

"Hannon le, Hîr Elrond." Trelan inclined his head as well, and Elrond smiled slightly.

"You are welcome to stay for a time if you wish." Elrond edged just slightly toward the healing room, his intention to return to Aragorn's side clear. "For I know you also have ties to my sons. I will see to it that Erestor arranges to have your cadre re-supplied before you continue on after Legolas and Glorfindel."

"That would be well and most appreciated, my Lord."

Elrond slipped back into the Healing Room then, and the two young sentinels exchanged looks full of worry and confusion as everything whirled together in their minds. They would speak later, that much was certain, but for now, Trelan placed a hand upon Raniean's shoulder.

"Come, Ran. Let us sit with El and 'Ro awhile. Their hearts are heavy with these burdens also." Trey's voice was gentle with concern, and not all of it was reserved for Legolas, although it would be fair to say that the prince's wellbeing took up the greater share of the shorter elf's fears. "And Legolas travels in the company of the famed Balrog-slayer. I am sure he will be all right long enough for us to receive a proper night's sleep and fresh mounts in the morning."

"May the Valar grant that you are right, mellon nín." Ran murmured quietly, and they slipped into the healing room, to offer support to their friends, the three sons of Elrond. For the first time since their fears for Legolas had been ignited, the woodland pair realized how pale and drawn Aragorn's features were, heard the rasp of his breathing and understood just how very ill the human was.

Raniean placed his hand gently on Elladan's shoulder, a combination of wordless apology and silent support, the elder twin still holding Aragorn's hand. Trelan did much the same for Elrohir, and 'Ro offered him a sad smile in thanks.

They knew in that awful moment, just how very much was at stake.

* * *

The last stars overhead seemed somehow distant, dimmed as though muted with the heavy weight of his heart. Glorfindel exhaled slowly in what seemed to be an inordinate amount of sighing, his eyes turning from the sparks above to the closer, warmer sparks of the tiny fire before him. The sun would soon rise, and he had not slept at all, his mind far too troubled to allow him such rest.

Storm water poured over the lip of the large overhang above him, remnants of the rain that had fallen throughout the night like tears from one who mourns with great grief. The analogy was not lost on Glorfindel, who could only imagine the mourning that would take place in Mirkwood upon news of her beloved prince's death; his own heart echoed this grief. Into the silence of the predawn, interrupted only by the crackle of the fire he'd managed to make within this meager shelter, he placed his hand over his heart and whispered painful words of farewell.

Glorfindel quailed to think what a terrible blow this would be to Estel, even as he finished bidding farewell to the departed prince. He closed his eyes tightly as he considered the impact this would have upon the young adan should he survive the illness besetting him. For the first time, he wondered what would become of the line of kings when Aragorn learned of losing his closest friend and staunchest supporter. Would Estel overcome the pain to his soul to take up his birthright, or would such anguish simply drive him back to the Dúnedain never to return? The world of Men seemed to hang upon a thin thread at that prospect, and Glorfindel sighed again, so heavily as to cause the small fire to flicker and dance a little.

Still, he could not afford to spare any more time; he could feel it deep within that Elrond's loss would not be far behind Thranduil's if he did not act quickly. Despite the guilt that gnawed at his heart, the warrior made the warrior's decision…he would continue on to Talathfen with the rising of Anor and seek out the Dúnedain. The late rains almost guaranteed the Rangers would still be with their families in the high ground and he should reach them easily enough. He could only hope that he would find that which would save Estel.

The blonde warrior's hand strayed, almost casually, to the damaged arrows that he had continued to carry with him. Only someone who knew him very well would detect the slight tremor in the fingers that curled around the shafts or in those of the other hand that faintly stroked over the ruined fletchings. He knew then what he had to do but he would await the dawn.

The last hour crept by before the rosy hues on the horizon heralded Anor's coming, and by that point, the runoff from the rains had mostly ceased. Rising, he kicked dirt over the last fading embers of his fire and ducked out from beneath the shelf of rock under which he had sheltered. Whistling lightly, he received answering nickers from both horses. Coats and manes were damp as there had been little shelter for either of them up on the higher slope, but they seemed to have weathered the storm well enough.

The balrog-slayer took several moments simply lavishing a little affection on each of the horses, rubbing the velvet noses, stroking along dampened necks, scratching lightly along broad foreheads. After a fashion, however, he turned his attention to Lospód. Glorfindel took the arrows, wrapped carefully in layers of cloth, placed them into a leather pouch and hung the pouch around Lospód's neck.

"Ego bar, mellon nín. Goheno nin i siniath haer i cúlach." _Go home, my friend. Forgive me the bitter tidings you carry_. Glorfindel patted Lospód's shoulder gently, and the horse shook out his mane, splattering a few leftover droplets of water on the seneschal. Despite the sorrow that bore down on him, Glorfindel smiled a little and rubbed the horse's shoulder once again. With that, Lospód trotted off, heading for Imladris.

Glorfindel watched him go for a long moment, almost tempted to call him back, to return to the river and at least attempt to find Legolas' body, but he knew he could not. Time was against him. With a heavy heart, the seneschal gathered his things and mounted his own horse, and with Anor spilling gold over the horizon, turned north for Talathfen.

* * *

The predawn hour seemed pitch as midnight to Elrond's soul as he kept watch at his mortal son's sickbed. The dark dread that had seated itself around Estel seemed to wrap itself around Elrond's heart and squeeze. A sort of breathless feeling stole over the Elf Lord for an instant as he recalled the vision once again. Grief-stricken elves mourning together in Imladris, and haunting laments rising in Mirkwood chilled his spirit.

"Hîr Elrond?" The soft voice belonged to Trelan, and Elrond brought his gaze up to the sentinel standing at his side. Trelan hesitated briefly before kneeling down next to the chair in which Elrond sat. "You were shivering, my Lord."

He explained his attention softly so as not to disturb either Estel or the twins, who had insisted on staying and were asleep on the floor before the fire, wrapped in blankets and curled around large pillows. Raniean had gone to see to the rest of the cadre some time ago and presumably had joined Erestor to aid in the task of provisioning. Trelan had felt compelled to stay, and he had done what he could to be of comfort to the Peredhil.

Elrond was rather startled to discover that he was indeed trembling just slightly, but it was not from a physical chill, but rather the cold tendrils snaking around his heart. He reached over and placed a hand on Trelan's shoulder, a grateful touch.

"It is all right, Trelan. It is merely the weight of what I've seen." He paused again. "I am uncertain what it could mean for Estel…or for Legolas, for in the vision all of Mirkwood raised a lament." The moment hung suspended between the two elves, and Trelan swallowed tightly. "However it was not made clear to me for whom the lament was being sung. Until the meaning of the vision is made plain, I will not know how to respond to it." The younger elf nodded miserably; of course, that was only logical. Elrond realized the great weight he had just placed upon Trelan and he gripped the sentinel's shoulder reassuringly. "The Valar have their reasons in revealing this to me, and those reasons shall be understood in time."

"My Lord Elrond…" Trelan turned his gaze upon Aragorn, the light of compassion coming to his eyes. His prince's sworn brother was so still. "I only hope that it will not be understood through the deaths of those we love."

Anor was beginning to peer over the edges of the horizon, and on the bed Aragorn moaned softly. Elrond leaned forward immediately, gently resting a palm over Aragorn's forehead. He glanced back at Trelan.

"Well spoken." He agreed, before shifting closer to his mortal son. "Now…we face a new day for those we love. Make haste. Ride hard and lend your aid to Legolas, and may the Valar grant you success to save Estel."

Trelan knew he had stayed too long, but Elrond had not disparaged him for it; rather there was gratitude in the Elf Lord's kindly blessing. He bowed his head shortly in respect, and paused long enough to place his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, a brief prayer upon his lips for the human's life to be spared. Then, with the light grace that marked most Wood-Elves, Trelan was on his feet and slipping from the room to attend to his duty.

Beneath his hand, Aragorn turned his head restlessly, and Elrond returned his attention where it most belonged, his touch gentle and his voice soft as he tended to his son. "A new day for those we love, ion nin…" He murmured tenderly. "Stay with us, Estel…stay this day with those who love you."

Trelan overheard Lord Elrond's gently spoken words as he gathered his composure just outside the room, and the slight trembling he had seen in the half-elven lord seemed briefly transferred to him as he thought of Legolas. Steps light and swift, the blonde elf proceeded from the hallway and down the steps, making his way quickly toward the main courtyard, pausing only long enough to gather his pack and weapons on the way. With Anor rising, he was fairly certain that Raniean would have the cadre already organized and preparing for departure.

He was quite correct; as he reached the courtyard most of the cadre was there, either already astride or preparing to mount their horses, and Raniean himself was coming toward him.

"I was beginning to think I was going to have to pry you out of there." Raniean said softly, but not in any way insulting.

"I am sorry I left you to see to all of this yourself, Ran." Trelan apologized. "I just…I could not just leave. Elrohir is taking it so hard. You would not know how hard until you look into his eyes. And Lord Elrond…"

"How is Estel?"

At Raniean's gentle question, Erestor left what he was doing and drifted closer to hear the shorter elf's answer, and Trelan swallowed.

"No change from earlier…he lies so still that at times he looks as though Mandos himself has taken hold of him." A soft, worried sigh slipped out from both Trelan and Erestor, and Ran's eyebrows knit together in a deep, distressed frown.

"Then we must hurry, Trey." Raniean grasped his friend's forearm tightly. "Let us be away to find Legolas and help him find the aid Estel needs." Trelan nodded and together the woodland elves nimbly mounted their horses.

"The Valar protect you and guide you and bring you back safely to this land." Erestor placed his hand over his heart, and outward gesture of farewell. From astride their horses, the two Mirkwood sentinels returned the gesture.

"Navaer, Lord Erestor." Raniean spoke for them all. "May the Valar grant all that you have asked." A call to the escort under his command, and a soft word to his horse, and the group of Silvan elves were off to seek their prince.

Erestor sighed softly. So many, so willing to risk so much all in the name of Hope. In the name of Estel.

Truth be told, the seneschal admitted to himself, if his place was not here at his Lord's side, he would have ridden with the Mirkwood elves or even with Glorfindel and Legolas, if the balrog-slayer would have had him.

Erestor chuckled softly despite the dire situation. His friendship with Glorfindel was rather unique among the elves of Imladris. For someone meeting them for the first time, it would appear that Elrond's two seneschals did not think much of one another for the amount of bickering they did. However, in truth the pair esteemed each other quite highly, having been through many difficulties together.

Smiling a little at the idea of a long journey with Glorfindel, and how entertaining that might have been for young Legolas, Erestor stayed until the last of the escort had ridden through the gates. Then he returned to the house, intending to look after their lord as long as this crisis might last.

* * *

Dawn's rosy blush had long fled the sky as Miluiel stood over the still-sleeping figure of her guest. As she had guessed the night before, the slender elf's injuries were such that his body had quite demanded the extra rest from him, but a brief check revealed that he seemed to be sleeping peacefully enough.

She smiled from within the hood she had made sure to draw about her, and started to leave the room, but stopped as the weakness returned and she grasped hold of the doorjamb. She had gone on too long without relief. She felt the mind-numbing pain crash over her once again, and the memories clawed at her mind. A piece of her felt the weariness, the all-consuming weariness and for a moment, she wanted to give into it.

It wasn't the first time that she considered just giving herself up to it.

"Miluiel?" A sleep-sated, slightly groggy voice behind her forced her to come away from the doorjamb. Legolas had pushed up onto one elbow, a worried look crossing his expression. In turning toward him, Miluiel caught sight of herself in one of her mirrors. Hooded, and yet…an air of vulnerability clung to her. "Are you well?"

"I am." Miluiel replied as steadily as she was able, and she forced herself to walk back to the bed with firm, straight steps. "And you, Legolas? How do you fare?"

It was, Legolas decided, a very good question. Very slowly, he pushed his way into fully sitting up, even as Miluiel knelt at the end of the bed and moved slender hands to check his damaged ankle. Blinking the glaze of elven sleep from his eyes, he realized he had slept far longer than he would have liked to. Likely, the result of his head injury, which at this moment demanded his attention with each beat of his heart, a persistent throbbing that likely was not going to leave in a hurry. However, it was not completely intolerable and he was determined not to allow it to hinder him in his quest if he could at all help it.

"Much better." Legolas was pleased to say, even as he reached up to gingerly finger the still slightly-raised knot near his temple where he'd come in contact with the river rock. He watched as Miluiel rewrapped his ankle. "How does it seem to you?" His unexpected question after several moments of near-silence as she bound the sprain fairly startled her; he could see the slightest flinch in her hands.

"The swelling has gone down considerably." Miluiel replied at last. "Although I do not think it wise to do much walking on it as yet." She finished her work and waited expectantly. "Are you hungry?"

Now it was Legolas' turn to consider an unexpected question. Hungry? He had a journey to complete! Carefully he shifted, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I have inconvenienced you enough, my lady." He said politely. "I really must be on my way; my traveling companion will be searching for me, and I have been charged with a task of importance."

"Your foot is not in any condition to bear much weight yet." Miluiel repeated. "And I have no horse to lend you. Are all wood elves so stubborn?"

"Am I the first you have encountered?" Legolas answered in kind, question for question, eyebrows slightly rising in what she would describe as a mildly amused expression. The hooded head at last shook a silent 'no' for an answer. "Very well then, the answer is yes." A soft laugh came from the slender woman.

"Is that to say that I know you so well already, master elf?" She retorted, rising to her feet once again. The weary ache was beginning to overcome her again, and she desperately needed to replenish her resistance or she would not be able to continue.

"Better, perhaps than I know you." Legolas said warily, a slight frown marring his fair features. "You have displayed a great deal of kindness and hospitality but you have yet to offer me your true name or even to show me your face within your own dwelling."

"Miluiel suits me for the time." She said very softly. "My name has not been spoken among the world of Men or Elves for many years."

"You were so well known?" Legolas inquired, one hand surreptitiously gripping the bedpost in preparation to rising. He watched her cautiously. Another silvery laugh was her response.

"Perhaps not as you might expect, but my voice once lent me some recognition among the races." Miluiel paused briefly. "It was once prized throughout the realms during seasons of celebration."

"You are a minstrel?" Legolas was surprised at that. There were few traveling bards in the two realms, and fewer still were women. In fact, on thinking of it, he was almost certain that he had never met a female who traveled throughout Arda solely to sing the tales of heroism and valor, history and faith that once bound the races.

"I was." Miluiel corrected lightly. For a moment, she stood silently, and then it simply became unbearable. "You should...be easy on that foot. I will return shortly." She fled the room so quickly that Legolas was uncertain exactly what had just happened. Had he somehow insulted his hostess?

Holding tightly to the bedpost, he now ventured to rise from the bed, intent on resuming his travels to Talathfen and the Dúnedain who most likely would still be there after last evening's rains. A soft gasp of pain escaped him as he realized Miluiel had been quite right; the ankle was far too weak to bear much weight at all, and he found himself balancing on the other foot rather quickly. That also did not last long, the steady ache beating out its uncomfortable rhythm in his head rising in sharp crescendo. Legolas sat back down upon the bed rather awkwardly for his usual grace, briefly closing his eyes.

A frustrated growl rumbled in the wood-elf's throat; he could not _believe_ his poor fortune—detained by a sore foot and a bump on the head! Estel needed his help so much more desperately, and for a brief moment, the Silvan prince felt his throat constrict tightly. He could not bear the thought of losing Estel, not now. Not when the promise of so much lay before his human friend.

Legolas exhaled slowly; there would be little gain in acting rashly; he could not walk. His greatest hope lay in Glorfindel, although even that was slender. If the balrog-slayer had survived the river himself, there was no way for him to know where Legolas had gone. If there was one comfort the Silvan archer had in this situation, it was that he knew Glorfindel was bound to the house of Elrond, and would not abandon the charge to seek answers for Estel. When the fierce warrior was convinced of Legolas' death at the whims of the river, he would continue north to complete what Legolas could not, of this the prince was fairly certain.

He would simply have to join Glorfindel when he could.

The slender wood-elf slowly laid back down; grateful once again for the comfort of the pillow for his aching head, but paused in settling himself as he sensed…something. Sorrow. Deep and undivided, the sort of pain that demanded attention and so Legolas paid heed to the fleeting sensation but then it was gone. Whose pain and whose sorrow it was, he could not tell. It had been close by; that he knew by the whisper of the willow tree just beyond his window.

Unsettled, but uncertain what to do about it, Legolas simply relaxed the best he could, awaiting the return of his benefactor.


	9. Pellin

EIGHT

Pellin (Fading)

_Come the night, I welcome thee!_

_For no more daylight now, I see._

_Vexed in heart, in soul, in mind_

_I look for thee but cannot find_

_The spark of life, the joy of song_

_Where did we err, or travel wrong?_

_I cannot find what now I lack_

_Come the night, and fade to black_.

Talathfen was little more than an odd assemblage of cobbled together dwellings covered with thatched roofs, and a stout wood wall to keep out predators that hunted at night. For the Dúnedain with whom Estel had ridden short weeks ago, it was a refuge in the spring from the floods that invariably came with the winter runoff, and in this case, the unexpected early fall storms that had filled the rivers to capacity.

A handful of Edain children tumbled about in the center of the village, running and shouting; playing games as children of all races were wont to do. Laughter came easily with the small knot of boys and girls, and from the rough watchtower at the corner of the protective wall, Eólin smiled softly. They had been fortunate, blessed even to have escaped the flooding of the lower valleys with no loss of life, although the damage to their winter stocks had yet to be accounted for; some of the harvest had been brought in but there were other crops that had suffered destruction. There would have to be some good hunting to provide for the winter months and perhaps some bartering with surrounding villages or with the Elves of Rivendell.

Eólin turned his attention back to the surrounding area; these days inattention was an ill-afforded thing. If not Orcs, there was always the possibility of marauding wild men who would be scouting villages to raid after the unexpected floods.

As it had been during the days of storming, however, the high ground around Talathfen showed no disturbance, no sign of attacker or predator. Life below the Dúnadan continued on, the men caring for their weapons and horses, the women tending to the morning bread baking and scolding misbehaving children.

The sun high in the sky promised excellent weather and perhaps a return to the tasks of scouting and hunting cut into by the danger to their families from the heavy rains. However, Eólin did not think that most of the Rangers minded this small respite, domestic days spent with their wives and children, tenderness released from the confines of vigilance and even some games and contests of strength between them.

There was a small pattering sound behind him, followed by a short grunt as someone hoisted himself over the top of the ladder, and without turning around, Eólin addressed the newcomer cheerfully.

"Given up fighting dragons and wargs, Madred?"

The childish laughter that sounded behind him was a pleasant sound, and the boy came closer.

"How did you know it was me, Eólin?" Madred was only eight years old, too young to understand totally his Dúnedain inheritance, the skills that he would one day hone and use. For now, however, it was enough for the child to learn that it had taken no special Rangers' skills for Eólin to know exactly who had joined him.

"Who else comes up here to share his lunch with me every day?" The tall ranger glanced back at the young boy behind him, all long limbs already; Madred had his father's height and his mother's generous spirit. "What did you bring us today, young master?"

Madred _hated_ anyone calling him young already, even though he had not yet reached his first decade, unless it was Eólin who addressed him so. He didn't even accept that from his father without complaint, despite idolizing his father as much as Eólin. To Madred's mind, Eólin and his father were the bravest, smartest, most skilled Rangers of all except for the one they called Strider. Madred had only ever met Strider face to face once, and that had been less than a month ago. However his father, Eólin and even Halbarad had deferred to the outsider who had ridden into their midst and Madred had decided this Strider must be someone important.

"Venison and bread, and some honey Mama gave me." Madred answered his ranger friend's question, and he put the satchel that carried their lunch into the near corner before coming up beside the watchful Dúnadan.

"Ahh…" Eólin smiled deeply. "Honey is a treat indeed."

"How goes the watch?" Madred asked, very seriously for such a young boy, and Eólin was hard-pressed to conceal the chuckle that rose in his throat.

"Very calm, very calm indeed. Scarcely a bit of motion anywhere except for some deer further out into the westerlands."

"Deer?" Madred echoed, turning toward the westward wall to peek out of the knothole there. There were four such knotholes, one in each direction, _just_ at Madred-height. 'Fancy that,' Eólin had remarked upon their discovery by the boy.

"Aye, there were some fine-looking stags, to be sure." The ranger scanned the eastern horizon, ever vigilant as he spoke. "Although they have moved on some while ago." Madred of course was disappointed. "Why don't you break out our feast, and we will keep the rest of the watch together."

That, of course, was agreeable with Madred; indeed, it was every day. It would not be long before this young one would begin his training outright, learning to track and scout, practicing the use of bow and sword.

There had been some cheese in the satchel too and the two friends took their noon meal with a certain amount of satisfaction. The honey bread was particularly good; Eólin had to admit. It had been quite awhile since the last time he had tasted the sweet treat.

"Your mother spoils us, Madred." He commented lightly as he looked out over the northern wall.

"Mama spoils everybody." The boy retorted, but it was evident that he was enjoying their repast as well. For a long moment, neither spoke, occupied with filling their bellies and simply keeping watch—Eólin at the wall and Madred peering through the knotholes—until Madred suddenly exclaimed, "Eólin! Eólin, look! A rider approaches from the south!"

The ranger snapped upright, having bent down to retrieve the water skin, and hastened to the southern wall. Indeed, some distance away from them, a horse was bearing toward the village, and the rider bent low over the horse's neck, to allow the creature its head. Eólin stiffened a bit; it could only be a matter of urgency for the rider to make such speed. The ranger placed a hand upon the boy's shoulder.

"Well done, Madred. There is but a single rider; I do not wish to raise the alarm just yet. Go and fetch your father and Halbarad."

"Aye, Eólin!" The child scrambled back down the ladder, hurrying for the knot of men who were tending to their weapons, knowing that his father was among them. Papa would know exactly where Halbarad was, even if the lieutenant wasn't among the small group.

Eólin kept a close eye upon the rider approaching; the horse was galloping steadily on straight for the gates. It would be several minutes yet before any sort of assessment of the rider could take place; he was still too far away to make any sort of identification.

Several moments later, Madred was scrambling up the ladder once more.

"Did you find your father, young master?" The ranger kept his eye trained on the horizon, on the rider and did not spare a glance back toward the breathless boy behind him.

"I did!" Madred gasped, panting for breath. "And Halbarad…they have gathered a small band of men to stand the gates."

Eólin nodded tightly. That was prudent, a few Rangers prepared to meet the oncoming rider without having to raise the general alarm as yet. Two more Rangers climbed the tower, joining Eólin to pay attention to the other three directions, north, east and west.

"Well done, Madred. Now…go on, go back down. We will speak again once the intention of our visitor is known."

Madred sighed softly; that was to be expected. Nevertheless, the boy was obedient, gathering up his satchel and things, and climbing back down the ladder. He paused at the base of the ladder, looking over to the handful of Rangers gathered near the gates, speaking casually, their weapons easily at hand but not yet displayed. His father caught his eye and the boy grinned, but then Halbarad looked over as well, silencing the boy's curiosity. Madred ran off to play with the other children, content with the knowledge that Eólin would keep his word and seek him out later.

* * *

Erestor slipped into the healing room, bearing a tray containing light meals for the Peredhil. Elrond was sitting by the fireplace, taking a momentary rest while Elrohir took his turn at Aragorn's side. It was the first that Erestor had actually been _in_ the sickroom, and he nearly dropped the tray when he caught sight of his lord's human son.

Aragorn was paper-white. The restlessness that marked the earlier fever-dreams had not returned; despite all effort by his foster father and brothers to restore his strength, the unearthly stillness had claimed him once more. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed gave any sort of indication that he remained with the living, but even that seemed strained, as if the only thing human wanted to do was to rest. Cease all motion and simply rest, despite the fact that sort of rest would only be obtained in Mandos' Halls…and yet, the slow, stubborn breathing continued.

Elrond looked up from his chair at the advisor's gasp, offering Erestor a faint smile to cushion the shock, and motioned his old friend closer. Erestor could not tear his eyes away from the motionless human, swallowing tightly, but at last, he did, coming to Elrond's side with the tray.

"It is hard to see him thus, I know." Elrond said softly as he gratefully took a cup of tea from the tray and took an experimental sip to test its heat. "He has not awakened since taking some broth last evening."

"It is as though he fades, although I know that is not possible." Erestor murmured softly, and at that, Elrohir's head snapped up sharply.

"What…what did you say?" The younger twin asked softly. Erestor blinked a moment, a bit surprised by the younger elf's reaction.

"I said that Estel has the appearance of an elf suffering from the fading." Erestor repeated cautiously, as he placed the tray upon a nearby table and dared to edge closer to the bed upon which Aragorn lay. "But for the fever, he bears the air of those whose light has diminished and whose souls no longer bear joy."

"Why do you ask, Elrohir?" Elrond asked quietly, his brows tucked together into a curious frown. The younger twin had a worried look upon his face.

"Ada…I said nearly the same thing to El the day after Legolas and Glorfindel set out." Elladan nodded confirmation, recalling Elrohir's comment.

"It…the fading…is not possible, is it? Estel is mortal…" Erestor started, but Elrond's expression was thoughtful as he met Erestor's gaze.

"He is mortal, that is true," Elrond set aside the teacup, one hand coming to stroke against his chin in concentration. "But he carries the blood of Númenor within him. A touch of my brother yet resides within his bloodline."

"But Ada," Elladan glanced at his twin before speaking further. "It doesn't make sense. If Estel were truly fading, would he not give up the fight?"

"And what would affect him so deeply to cause him to…to fade?" Elrohir shook his head slowly, frightened. Their little brother often carried the weight of his heritage, could be serious, solemn and quiet at times, but his spirit was ever full of life and gentleness. Laughter was no stranger to his lips, and often he was quick to join his brothers in their pranks; Glorfindel had suffered at more than just the hands of the 'terrible twins.' "Estel knows we love him, Ada…why would he leave us?"

Elrond's throat tightened a bit with the implications of such a thing. Already Aragorn was very weak; if this indeed was the fading, somehow, he was rapidly approaching a place where losing him was quite possible. Rising quickly, the Elf Lord returned to his son's bedside, softly requesting that Elrohir move aside for a time. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gently took up Aragorn's limp hand between both of his, and drew in a deep breath.

Closing his eyes, Elrond placed one palm gently upon his Aragorn's pale forehead, retaining his grip on his son's hand with the other, and drew his concentration into a healing trance, seeking to draw the tortured soul back to the light. _Please,_ he begged silently. _Come back to the light_.

Elrohir hugged himself tightly, fear woven into his features as he recognized what his father was attempting, and a silent tear tracked down his face. Elladan, touched by Elrohir's distress, took the few steps necessary to be at his side. Embracing his twin from behind, Elladan leaned his chin against Elrohir's shoulder, both of them watching their father and younger brother closely.

Elrond's lips moved slightly, faint whispers in Elvish the only sound in the room, his natural elven glow growing to envelop Aragorn as well. "Saes, Estel…lasto na beth nín. Baw misto haeron…baw ego athan cened nín." _Please, Estel…hear my words. Do not stray so far…do not go beyond my sight_. "Daro nedh i calad, daro anim." _Stay in the light, stay for me_. "Daro an gwedeir lín…daro an Legolas." _Stay for your brothers…stay for Legolas_.

Beneath the Elf Lord's hand, there was no motion, no indication that Elrond's words or efforts were reaching the young ranger, not even the mention of Legolas' name. Standing side by side, the twins were mirror images of anxious trembling. On the other side of the room, Erestor silently sank into the chair beside the fire that just moments ago had held his lord, the implication of his own words dawning on him; however slim the chance of their reality might be.

Finally, Elrohir could bear it no more. Pulling abruptly away from Elladan, he sank down on his knees at Estel's bedside and buried his face in the blanket, weeping softly. Elladan, briefly paralyzed by his twin's overwhelming sorrow and his own upset over his mortal brother's condition, simply stood open-mouthed for a stunned moment before swallowing tightly and rushing from the room.

Elrond was distantly aware of his other sons' distress, as one who might hear Elrohir's weeping from the next room over, or Elladan's rapid steps from downstairs. However, he kept his focus tightly upon Estel, unwilling as yet to abandon his effort to coax his son back to the realm of light. The glow surrounding them both seemed to intensify as Elrond tightened in concentration. "Mas le, ion nín? Estel, tolo bar…pado na i cuinar." _Where are you my son? Estel, come home…walk again with the living_.

"Tolo ad ai mîl le." _Come back for those who love you_. Elrohir choked out between sobbing breaths. "Saes, Estel, baw awartho ammen an dúath." _Please, Estel do not forsake us for the shadow_.

Elrohir's heartbroken cries were more than Erestor could take. Silver tears raced the length of his face, and the advisor slowly rose, shaken and worried. Lips moving in silent pleading to the Valar, Erestor slipped from the room to find Elladan.

* * *

Despite the muddy, unpleasant conditions leftover from the rains, the cadre was making fairly good progress due north, toward Raniean's understanding of where Talathfen lay, up in the high ground. Lord Erestor's directions and descriptions were all he had to go on; neither he nor Trey had ever had much opportunity to travel that far north. It was well into the afternoon when Trelan's horse drew alongside his own, and Raniean glanced over at his friend.

"We should give the horses a rest." Trey suggested lightly, and Raniean tipped his head back enough to assess Anor's position in the skies. "And I don't know about you but some of us are hungry."

"Some of us?" Ran questioned teasingly, a slight lift of his eyebrows as he looked back to his companion. "Or just _you_, hmm?" The sudden grumbling of his own stomach at the mention of food saved Trey from having to answer, except for a bit of soft laughter.

The gentle humor between them was a welcome thing, staving off the tense concerns that gathered among the escort the further north they went. Picking up Glorfindel and Legolas' trail shortly upon leaving Rivendell, they followed their quarry precisely, but that had not lasted long as the rains had obscured most evidences of the two elves' passage north. It bothered Raniean much more than it normally might, a thick knot of apprehension settling deep inside, and he sighed softly.

"Ran?" Trey frowned slightly, noting Raniean's distressed expression. "Are you all right, mellon nín?" A quiet pause fell between them for a moment before Ran hunched his shoulders slightly.

"As all right as I can be." He replied tersely. "I like not that there are so few indications of their passage." Raniean watched as Trelan glanced instinctively around them, as if such indications might spring to light by the mere mention of them.

"I'm sure they're all right." Trelan encouraged quietly. "Glorfindel has taken down an orc or two in his time, you know. And we've all seen Legolas' skill with the bow and blade. If anything _has_ beset them, I'm certain they made their opponents very, very sorry."

Raniean lifted a hand, signaling the cadre to come to a halt, and the others in their group clustered together warily, elven senses on high alert. Out in the open like this, heading into the wilds with very little cover, caution was a friend. Slowly the small group of elves dismounted, allowing the horses to wander apace to graze. A pair of them took up a watch while the others sat down and broke out water skins, lembas and some fresh fruit Erestor had sent with them.

"You're right, of course." Raniean finally agreed with his friend, if somewhat halfheartedly. Trey frowned once again as he sat down next to his troubled friend.

"What is it, Ran?" Trey prodded gently as he passed a piece of lembas over to the taller elf. "The rest of us are also worried about Legolas, you know."

Raniean accepted the lembas from his friend's hand, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully before answering. "I know that. I just…don't feel right." He didn't know how to explain it any more than that, and the Silvan elf's silver eyes turned an anxious gaze to the northern horizon.

Trelan drew his legs up to his chest; hands clasped around them, and rested his chin upon his knees.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Lord Elrond's gift of foresight had come off on you." The smaller elf shuddered briefly, recalling the unearthly utterance they'd heard in Imladris and he knew what troubled his friend. "It's the vision Lord Elrond had, isn't it?" Raniean looked at Trelan as if the other sentinel needed a new brain.

"Of course it is." He said, perhaps a bit more harshly than he'd intended, and Trelan's wounded expression softened Raniean's voice. "I…keep thinking about what he said, about the houses of Mirkwood and Rivendell mourning together."

All attempts at light-heartedness dropped away now, and Trelan hid his face behind his knees. He feared for all of them—Legolas, Estel and Glorfindel. Raniean looked over and saw his friend's trembling shoulders, and he sighed softly. Reaching over, Ran placed his hand gently upon the slender back. "Goheno nin." _Forgive me_.

"Al-baur gohena. Iston i naw uin gurth o mellyn mín…o Legolas…na gaer. Ten na goe nín, caun mín na dannen." _No need to forgive. I know the idea of the death of our friends…of Legolas…is dreadful. It is my fear our prince is fallen_. Trelan turned his face toward Raniean, his right cheek still resting against his knees. At his shoulders, Raniean's hand moved in gentle circles.

"Gerin sen caul an-le. Baw cúlach ha erui, Trey." _I hold this burden with you. You do not carry it alone, Trey_. Raniean whispered softly, meeting Trelan's fearful gaze.

"Nor do you." Trelan replied as solidly as he was able.

It was, in this moment when so much was still unknown, all the comfort they could offer one another.

* * *

The rider was within view, now.

Eólin sucked in a startled breath as he realized who was bearing toward them with such haste.

"Glorfindel!" He exclaimed softly, drawing the attention of his two companions, both looking at him curiously. "Glorfindel!" Eólin repeated, by way of explanation. "The Balrog-Slayer." When he received blank stares from his fellow rangers, both rather younger than Eólin, he sighed impatiently. "He is Firstborn, an Elf of Rivendell. He resides in the house of Lord Elrond." The Dúnadan suddenly grinned. "And it has been many years since I have seen his face."

Charging the other two to stay at the watch, Eólin scrambled down the ladder, and headed for the gates to inform the small knot of men waiting that there was no need for alarm. At least, not from the rider who approached. Upon receiving that information, however, Halbarad's expression remained slightly tensed; for what reason would Glorfindel be coming to Talathfen?

"Some evil must have come to Imladris." Halbarad murmured quietly, and Eólin's expression sobered at that thought. The reminder that dire tidings must be the reason for the unexpected reunion tempered his initial joy at seeing his old friend.

At last the gates swung inward, and the horse bearing the blonde seneschal trotted into their midst. Glorfindel dismounted immediately, and his somewhat disheveled appearance signaled to Eólin at least that the Elf's journey had suffered from both haste and the ill weather.

"Mae govannen." Halbarad spoke first; as Strider's lieutenant and kin, it was his place to speak first. "You are welcome among us, Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell."

Despite the urgency of his arrival, Glorfindel smiled warmly.

"Mae govannen, Halbarad." The seneschal replied, a slight inclination of his head in honor of his hosts. "It is good to see Talathfen—and you—again, mellon nín." A deep breath signaled a plunge forward, and the Men gathered did not have long to wait. "We need to speak apart, Halbarad. Bring your two or three most trusted men and let us take counsel together."

Halbarad nodded shortly, and motioned to a pair of Dúnedain on his left, then turned and nodded to Eólin. The tall ranger stepped forward, and instantly Glorfindel's eyes widened in recognition.

"Mae govannen, my lord Glorfindel." Eólin greeted with no small joy, although he remained appropriately solemn to the occasion. "Ind nín linnon tírad thîr lín ad." _My heart sings to see your face again_.

"Eólin, Eórlion." _Eólin, son of Eórl_. "Suilad. Gelir im na tirnen am le." _Greetings. Happy I am to look upon you_. To the surprise of all the younger men, save Halbarad who remembered the first meeting between these two, Glorfindel reached over and clasped Eólin's shoulder in the manner of sword-brothers. Eólin returned the gesture solidly.

Halbarad made the suggestion that the five of them speak privately in his own dwelling, and they made their way across the compound to the small structure. Eólin remained silent during the small trek from the gates, his thoughts turning now toward the reason for this visit from the elven warrior from Rivendell. Eólin knew firsthand, as did many of this company, how renowned in battle the Noldorin were. What terror could have invaded Rivendell to prompt Lord Elrond to send a single messenger—especially _this_ messenger—to seek out the Dúnedain this far north? As they filed in after Halbarad, he gazed thoughtfully at his friend from years ago, and his brows furled into an expression of great concern.

"What tidings from Imladris, Lord Glorfindel?" Halbarad wasted no time, getting right to it, and Glorfindel exhaled softly.

"The news I bear regards your chieftain Strider, and his friend the Prince of Mirkwood."

* * *

Erestor slipped into the Hall of Fire, and stood just inside the doorway.

"Elladan?"

At his softly spoken name, the elder twin fairly trembled. Erestor had not seen him so vulnerable since the days directly following Celebrian's departure for Valinor. Quietly the advisor crossed the broad room, joining Elladan before the dancing flames.

"I should have understood it better, before now." Elladan said; his voice barely audible even to elven ears. "He wasn't sleeping well…he was distressed, body and mind _before_ he fell sick."

"He is mortal. It would not have been a logical conclusion." Erestor pointed out gently. "You cannot blame yourself for something that escaped us all, Elrondion." The advisor raised his hand, and let it kindly fall to Elladan's shoulder. "We may yet be wrong about it as well; heir of Númenor notwithstanding, Estel _is_ human."

Silence fell between them for long moments before Elladan spoke again.

"I would give all to see his pain relieved." The twin's shoulders slumped suddenly in quiet grief beneath Erestor's hand. "If Estel _is_ fading…I cannot imagine what terrible hurt…" Tears came now, faster than Elladan expected.

"Perhaps his strength wanes, Elrondion, but yours has not. Tell him all that is in your heart, all that you carry for him. At least he is _here_, in Imladris, and not kept far from us. Share your strength with him, Elladan. He cannot have forgotten your love for him so completely." It was not unlike the advice Erestor had given Elrond himself earlier, but he waited to see if the son would receive it as well as the father.

"Strength was not enough to save Naneth." Elladan whispered, old pains rising to the fore briefly, prodded along by new ones. "Love was not enough. And what will happen if it is not enough to save Estel?"

Quietly the advisor did what Elrond, otherwise occupied at this moment, could not. He simply enfolded Elladan into a supportive embrace, and allowed the younger elf to weep upon his shoulder. Erestor had no wish to see the Peredhil suffer another loss so close to their hearts; he feared what would become of Elrond's household should it come to that.

"I do not have that answer, Elladan. The Valar have not chosen to reveal to me, what will be." Erestor replied softly, pulling back a little to look at his lord's son. "Foresight has been given to your Adar, not to me." Elladan's eyes welled again, and he glanced away. Erestor frowned slightly. "What is it?"

"Ada's sight…showed him weeping, voices raised in lament." Elladan hesitated. "The song of the dead rising in Imladris and among the people of Aran Thranduil."

A sweeping chill raced up Erestor's spine at Elladan's words. The obvious implications of such a vision were far too real, and far too near, and the advisor drew in a slow, steadying breath.

"Estel is your brother, in all but blood." Erestor placed both hands upon both shoulders now, facing the twin to steady him. "His need for you is great, Elladan. Estel's life, his survival, is in your hands. You and Elrohir, his brothers, and his Adar." Beneath his touch, Elladan fairly trembled, and he bowed his head slightly.

"I did not mean to abandon Estel." He whispered. Erestor recognized the younger elf's feeling of shame, and his burden.

"You did nothing of the sort, Elladan Elrondion." Erestor moved one hand to tip up Elladan's chin, to meet his gaze. "Your heart is as tender as Elrohir's is, although you do not show it as easily as he does. It pains you to think of Estel suffering from the fading." Erestor squeezed lightly upon Elladan's shoulders. "No one faults you for that; it sorrows my heart as well if that indeed is what is happening."

Elladan drew in a measured breath. "It is tearing 'Ro apart." He murmured softly. He could sense his twin's upset, and felt the same mourning within. They had known a few scattered Elves whose spirits had faded beyond the point of rescue or return; the idea of such a fate coming to their human brother was indeed terrifying.

"Ego si an ti, Elladan." _Go now to them, Elladan_. Erestor encouraged gently. "Gwedeir lín garo baur o le." _Your brothers have need of you_. Elladan squared his shoulders; beneath his hands, Erestor could feel the determination that now lit the elder twin's eyes, and he nodded affirmation. "Al erui le vi achas lín; al erui le vi tass lín o edraith Estel." _You are not alone in your fear; you are not alone in your task of saving Estel_.

Erestor withdrew his hands now, stepping back. Elladan inhaled and exhaled once, a deliberate steadying breath, before hurrying from the Hall of Fire to return to the fight in which he was needed so desperately. Erestor nodded to himself slowly. If indeed this was the fading, by some cursed chance, Aragorn would need more than medicine; he would need a reason to battle his way back to the light. Three very good reasons would now surround him, and they would not abandon him.

Not to the shadow. Not now, not ever.

* * *

Legolas carefully sat up, uncertain of just when he had drifted back to sleep, nor what part of the day greeted him as he returned to wakefulness. A colorful string of dwarvish laced his mutterings as he tested his body's willingness to obey him. _Ai, Elbereth…my head_. He pressed one palm against his forehead, willing the rhythmic throbbing to cease. It shouldn't still hurt this badly, he told himself. Not after a whole night's sleep and a good portion of a day's after. He could only conclude that his injury was more serious than he had initially believed. Even the elven ability of rapid healing could greatly slow down with significant enough damage.

"Legolas?" Miluiel's soft voice interjected from the open doorway and she appeared much steadier upon her feet than before, and Legolas frowned slightly, uncertain in his current groggy state exactly what, if anything, he thought he'd seen earlier. "You do not look well…how are you feeling?"

Legolas chafed a bit at the healer-like tone in her voice, and he stubbornly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He could not afford this weakness while Aragorn's life lay in the balance, and by the stars, he would not remain abed as time was against him…against Aragorn…and with the trust of the house of Elrond upon him.

Grasping the bedpost as he had done earlier, Legolas gingerly came to his feet. He was pleased that his ankle, while quite tender, was a bit more disposed to bearing his weight, and after a moment he released his grip on the post. Balancing with most of his weight born on his good foot, he attempted the few steps necessary to cross the room. Only a slight wince betrayed the residual aching of the damaged ankle.

Suddenly the room spun sickeningly, and the slender elf crashed unceremoniously to the floor before he'd even quite realized what had happened. A moment later Legolas was aware of hands at his shoulders and Miluiel's worried voice speaking his name.

"I'm…somewhat dizzy." Legolas admitted grudgingly. He was more than upset that he could not yet rise and pursue his charge to aid Aragorn and impatient that his body seemed intent on betraying him. Accustomed to perfect balance and the ability to walk slender tree branches or the narrow balcony railings, the dizziness was a most distressing sensation for the normally graceful wood elf.

"You should be resting." Miluiel chided softly as she helped him sit upright. "Let me see." She placed the fingers of her right hand beneath Legolas' chin and gently tilted his head in order to take advantage of the afternoon light. With the fingers of her left, she carefully brushed back disheveled blonde hair to view the dark, angry bruise against the fair skin. "You have quite the mark here, Legolas. Does it pain you much?"

Legolas noted wryly that Miluiel sounded much as Aragorn might in asking such a thing; questioning not _if_ there was pain, but how _much_. Still, the thumping troll that seemed to have taken up residence in his skull seemed to demand that he cooperate, no matter how much he may wish otherwise.

"Depends upon your definition of 'much,' I'm afraid." Legolas replied flatly, his expression deadpan. "If it entails feeling as though every heartbeat will split my head in two, then the answer is yes, it does."

"Come, you should be in bed. You will do your companion little good in this condition, and if completing your task requires a clear head you will not be much aid there, either." Miluiel responded just as dryly, and Legolas exhaled softly as she shifted to help him up.

"I know I deserved that." He said by way of apology, but his expression remained taut, his mind occupied with anxious thoughts of both Aragorn and Glorfindel. "I am merely eager to reassure my fellow traveler of my survival and to complete my charge." Despite the slim hands keeping him steady, the room seemed to tilt crazily and sapphire eyes squeezed shut against the unwelcome sensation.

"You will be able to do neither in this state." Miluiel replied, and her voice held none of the sharpness that they had just traded with each other. "And if you persist thus, your desires will matter little as you will not be here to carry them out!"

Unable really to do otherwise, Legolas allowed Miluiel to guide him back to the bed, and slowly he leaned back against the pillows, which Miluiel rearranged for him. Worry raced through Legolas, but not for himself. His thoughts were all around Aragorn. Was Aragorn still alive? Would this delay mean his death? Would Glorfindel be able to do what Legolas could not?

He swallowed tightly, his throat suddenly dry as dust as he fervently hoped that Glorfindel had chosen Estel over himself in matters of priority. Of secondary importance was the belief beginning to well within him that he was a failure to his friend, and to the heavy trust deposited with him by the Peredhel. It mattered little to Legolas what became of him in coming days, as long as Aragorn survived. Survived and went on to fulfill the destiny that lay before him.

Legolas emerged from his anxious thoughts as slender fingers hesitantly touched the back of his hand. Slightly unfocused sapphire eyes gazed at the hooded figure next to him. "What do you fear, Legolas?" Miluiel's voice sounded softly.

"The loss…of that which is dearest to me." Legolas answered truthfully. Estel's honest, unassuming friendship had rescued the elf from the darkness that would have filled him after the loss of his naneth, the hatred that might have claimed him after earlier, more terrible encounters with humans, and even older, more private pains that had been forced upon him by one who had been both enemy and family by blood.

Legolas was uncertain what it was that made him confess it, but as he glanced down upon the palm that had not moved from the back of his hand, he drew in a slow, measured breath. "What is it that you fear, Miluiel?" He asked bluntly, feeling somewhat vulnerable now and wishing to even the territory with the kind—but still largely unknown—being sitting beside him. "Do you fear me?" He motioned once again to the hood, which hid her face with his free hand. The hand that rested on his now shook, and a moment passed in which Legolas thought to go unanswered once again, before the hooded head bowed slightly.

"_I have lost all that I fear…and I fear all that I have lost_." She whispered at last, and she withdrew her hand. "_I fear myself_." Miluiel now raised her head, and to Legolas' surprise, her hands came up to the edges of the hood. He found himself holding his breath, although he did not know why.

In a single, fluid motion, the trembling fingers threw back the hood.

* * *

Halbarad hunched his shoulders tightly, and regarded Glorfindel with a great deal of concern. He was just as aware as Eólin was that for this particular warrior of Rivendell to come meant this news regarding Strider and his elven companion Legolas was not likely to be good.

"What has happened?" He prompted again. Glorfindel glanced at the other three men, including Eólin, before continuing, explaining the events of the recent past; Strider's arrival in Rivendell, his collapse and subsequent illness, and the charge that had been laid upon himself and Legolas, their separation at the river and the last of the journey that had brought him to Talathfen. Glorfindel skirted a few of the minor details, things that might have given away Strider's true identity as the heir of Isildur, but explained the purpose of his arrival here among the Dúnedain, and requested their aid.

"...even now he lies at the door of Mandos' Halls. We only hoped that in finding out what befell him that we might discover how to aid him." Glorfindel finished, and the slight slump of the proud warrior's shoulder bore testament to the burdens he now carried—the death of the crown prince of Mirkwood among them, and the possible loss of Strider as well. Eólin felt his heart clench painfully, not only for his chieftain who now lay on the point of death but also, for the pain his old friend obviously felt concerning the loss of Legolas. Eólin himself had never met the Silvan archer but had heard much from Halbarad and Strider himself about the son of King Thranduil.

"You say he was nearly a week overdue on his appointment to Lord Elrond?" Halbarad questioned, thoughtfully. Glorfindel had guised Aragorn's return to Rivendell simply as agreement to report to the Elf Lord the results of the patrol he had undertaken with his fellow Rangers, as the Orc incursions had been growing bolder in recent days. The Dúnedain gathered took it for granted; they had always had good relations with the Elves, and Strider in particular was known to have close ties to both Rivendell and Mirkwood, so they thought nothing of it.

"Yes." Glorfindel responded with a nod of his head. "Lord Elrond had thought to send a party out searching for him when he was so overdue but that turned out to be unnecessary, thank Erú."

"Perhaps there is reason to be concerned about that, for his departure was as agreed upon; he should not have been so far behind in his travels as to reach Rivendell so late." Halbarad replied, a growing tension in his bearing.

"Not even with his intention to scout the eastern border on his way?" Eólin volunteered, and instantly all eyes were on him, and the young Ranger realized that Strider had not spoken of such intentions to anyone else. Not that the proposed extra scouting was truly "on the way," but the Dúnadan leader had mentioned it in passing to Eólin the day before departing. "Up in the watchtower, the night before his leave-taking, he spoke of going eastward to see how the villages there fared in the wake of the attacks."

"Perhaps Strider ran into more than he expected in those villages." Glorfindel surmised, and he turned his gaze to Aragorn's second-in-command. Halbarad drew in a slow, measured breath.

"We will aid you in this, Lord Glorfindel." Halbarad finally said, steadily. "I will send a group of scouts under Eólin's command with you to the villages in the east." The rough Dúnadan nodded firmly. "And I will lead a band myself to go west and search along the river for Prince Legolas."

Glorfindel's whole demeanor seemed to shift to something if…not exactly relieved, at least very much appreciative. The blonde elven head bowed slightly in simple thanks, and in the next moment, Halbarad's hand was upon the balrog-slayer's shoulder. "And now, allow us to show you some hospitality. You have ridden hard and the day is far spent. We will break bread together while Eólin and Vernad here choose the men to ride with us."

"Thank you, mellon nín." Glorfindel said gratefully, the tension—at least for now—leaving his shoulders and the seneschal even offered a slight smile. "And thank you for taking up the search for Legolas. It is difficult enough to deliver such ill news without having to deliver it empty-handed."

"With the blessing of the Valar, perhaps there will be no ill news to deliver." Eólin said, and the sad smile that Glorfindel turned on him made the younger man's heart clench once again. "Iston sen caul ha long bo ind lín." _I know this burden is heavy on your heart_.

"Pedo thenid, Eólin, Eórlion." _You speak true, Eólin, son of Eórl_. Glorfindel's sad smile now was touched with pleasure. "I see you have kept up your lessons." He said, a pleased sort of tone entering the tired voice as well. Eólin's eyes lightened a bit as well, and he nodded. The young Ranger had spent some months in Rivendell after his first meeting—and lifesaving—of Glorfindel, and had readily learned a good deal of the grey tongue.

"Aye." Eólin affirmed. "My father saw to that." He felt warmed by the tall Elf's approval.

"How fares Eórl, mellon nin?" Glorfindel asked as they filed from Halbarad's dwelling. Eólin hesitated briefly before replying, his voice softened.

"He fares as all who reach the halls of our fathers do." The heartbreaking look of compassion that Glorfindel wore now was one Eólin was quick to soothe. "My father's passing was honorable in the defense of elven messengers overtaken by orcs on the passage to Lothlorien. It was also some years ago, Glorfindel. I have come to peace about it."

"I think I recall this incident." Glorfindel mused, partly to his young human friend and partly to himself. "I believe Lord Elrond's twin sons were among those attacked on the way to Lothlorien." He placed a hand upon the ranger's shoulders. "Your Adar was a very good man. You have every right to be proud of his memory, Eólin."

Eólin noticed a slight figure hanging in the shadows, and he grinned suddenly, motioning the boy closer.

"I am also proud of someone else I think you should meet, Lord Glorfindel." Eólin said, placing his hands upon the boy's shoulders. "This is my sister's son, Madred. Madred, greet the Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, the slayer of the balrog and captain of the Lord Elrond's warriors."

It was clearly an introduction meant to impress, and Glorfindel lifted slightly arched brows at Eólin, who simply continued to grin. He turned his attention to the human boy, who did indeed look appropriately awed. At Glorfindel's gaze, the boy gulped slightly and then placed his hand over his heart.

"Mae govannen, Hîr Glorfindel." Madred said at last, his voice more solid than his appearance would first indicate. "Ha glass na tírad sui beleg edhel sui le." _It is joy to see as mighty an elf as you_.

Glorfindel simply laughed now, understanding the purpose behind this meeting. It was meant to be a joyful note to lighten the burden he bore.

"You have passed your lessons along, I see." He said to Eólin, and it seemed to the young Ranger that there was a lighter tone to the balrog-slayer's voice. Turning back to Madred, the blonde elf inclined his head. "Am I the first elf you have met, Master Madred?" The boy's wide-eyed look in return was answer enough, and Glorfindel actually tousled the child's runaway locks. "Mae govannen, Madred."

"I think…" Eólin said cheerfully, "That you'd better tell your mother you have a guest for the evening meal, Madred."

Elf and Dúnadan chuckled softly as the boy tore off to do just that.


	10. Glîrnathron Song Weaver

NINE

Glîrnathron (Song Weaver)

_The song is faint yet carries on,_

_The soul is silent yet yearns for dawn._

_Awaken my voice call me to life,_

_Bear from me the memory of strife._

_Grace has gone, has fled from me,_

_Far out of time, far beyond the sea._

_I bear the scars of pain untold_

_My face reflects your heart gone cold_.

The mud and flood silts along the low-lying plain were enough to spatter the horses and even their leggings, a distinctively damp and unpleasant situation but the Mirkwood elves pressed on, driving toward the north with as much speed as they could muster. Even the fleet-footed elven horses were hard pressed to any sort of speed in the muck; a rhythmic sort of sucking noise could be heard with each hoof pulling free of the muddy mess.

"It will be a hard winter for these people." Trelan murmured softly, noting the damage to crops and pastures they passed by on their journey. "The valley folk will suffer for it."

"Rivendell will offer aid if they so seek it." Raniean replied confidently. "Lord Elrond will not turn aside those in desperate straits." Raniean tipped his head back, exhaling sharply. The going had been much slower than he had hoped through the temporary mudflats the flooding had created. The horses were tiring once again and it would not be long before another rest was necessary. "We will have to find a place to ford the river."

Trelan's unhappy sigh was his only reply as his mount hesitated, his stride broken briefly by a hind foot struggling a second for release from the thick mud.

"If it was anything like this when Glorfindel and Legolas passed through here, they could not have gotten far ahead of us." Trey remarked, slightly exasperated. The resulting splatter of mud had splashed straight up the horse's hindquarters, some of it flinging high enough to land in blonde elven hair.

It was all Raniean needed to release his tension in mirthful laughter, fairly doubling over on the back of his horse, much to his companion's chagrin. Trelan's expression darkened with his own tensions for a brief moment.

But only for a moment.

A handful of cold, wet mud connected messily with the right side of Raniean's face, silencing the laughter into a shocked expression that met Trelan's bright grin. The scoop of mud came from the side of his plastered horse, and the shorter elf appeared rather pleased with his solution.

Raniean opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and then dissolved into nervous laughter once again. Trelan drew his horse closer once again, still grinning.

"We look like two mudhens." Raniean accused, and Trelan chuckled.

"Two is always better than just one, mellon nín, do you not agree?"

The two elves settled back into something more serious, more befitting their stations as sentinels of the royal house of Mirkwood, at least inasmuch as they were able while looking somewhat less than dignified warriors and somewhat more like a pair of muddy elflings.

"Legolas will think we have met with some misfortune." Raniean said, and instantly both elves sobered as they spoke of their friend and prince. Elrond's vision had shaken them both to the core and had not been far at all from their minds as they'd ridden on. Several minutes passed in uneasy silence as the flood plain abruptly broke away to form the lip of the steep riverbank. Down below, the lower but still swift waters rushed by. At last, Trelan's expression softened into a mischievous smile.

"You know, Ran…we shall have to tell him it was entirely your fault."

"_My_ fault?" Raniean started to protest, when his grey eyes caught sight of something and he sat bolt upright, a slight squint coming to his features.

"What?" Trelan tensed instantly, his hand straying to the bow slung at his back. "What is it?"

The other elf did not answer, but suddenly leapt down from his horse and sprinted a little way forward, slipping and sliding down the muddy slope in his haste. Caring little for his appearance, Raniean suddenly knelt down and pulled something from the flood silt.

Trelan joined him a moment later, still astride his horse, and he leaned down to see. When Raniean straightened up, what Trelan saw fairly stole his breath away.

"Legolas…" Trelan whispered painfully.

In Raniean's hand was a battered arrow. Splintered, nearly split in two, but still bearing the distinctive fletching of their friend and prince, it was muddied and battered but easily identifiable. Trelan jumped down from his own horse, motioning for the others to join them. Already the shorter elf was scanning the area looking for other signs of Legolas and Glorfindel's passage, particularly paying attention for any signs of battle or struggle, but there were none. While it was quite true that the flooding could have carried such signs as weapons or corpses downriver, there was no indication whatsoever that anything of the sort had taken place in the close area.

"They must have crossed further upstream." Raniean concluded as they found no other signs of either elf or any other creature within a reasonable distance for close combat. "The river is still too deep and too rapid here." Trelan, standing with arrow nocked and senses alert for any possible enemy, nodded once as the rest of the cadre regrouped on Raniean's signal. Two of their number came up and inspected the arrow as well, a sorrowful look crossing their faces as they realized the violent force that would have been necessary to splinter the arrow in such a manner.

"Whatever attacked them may have done so from that point." Trelan agreed, glancing once again at the shattered arrow, a feeling of sick dread in the pit of his stomach. Replacing his own arrow in his quiver, the smaller elf leapt lightly upon his horse. "Let us be away from here…I…I can't stand it, Ran." The taut worry in his voice was obvious even to those who did not know him well.

With one last glance, Raniean also mounted his horse and together the small band of elves turned eastward up the riverbank, looking for clues of where Legolas and Glorfindel had taken their crossing. It was not much further upstream before they found a natural ford, enhanced slightly by what looked to be the beginnings of a stonework footbridge. Unfinished, the narrow expanse of laid stone jutted slightly into the water, as if to be the start of a support perhaps. Water rushed along over the top of it as it met the running river, and there was no indication of how far the stonework actually extended.

"This must be it." Raniean said, looking back at his friend with a slight lift of his eyebrows. "It's the most sensible place to have crossed, especially with all the high water." He made a signal with his hand, indicating that they would continue forward here, and then guided his steed out onto the stone shelf.

Raniean's horse discovered the edge of the stonework abruptly as he stumbled ever so slightly into the natural riverbed beneath his hooves, but the horse did not falter, and neither did Raniean. The water was high enough to run along the sentinel's ankles, but it had well receded from its earlier flood stages. He could hear the hoof-beats of the animals on the stone behind him, and he urged his horse forward.

Even before the entire cadre had crossed the ford, Trelan had leapt from his horse and was intently studying the surrounding area, seeking indications of Glorfindel and Legolas' passage. Raniean joined him quickly, and their horses were not slow to take advantage of the break, climbing the slight rise in the riverbank to nibble at the tender grass on higher ground.

As with the area in which Raniean had discovered Legolas' arrow, there were no signs of battle or distress and Trelan frowned a little. Something obviously had happened for the arrow to suffer such abuse, and they both knew that Legolas was far from careless with his weapons.

"Ran! Over here!" Trelan suddenly called out, having come some little way up the riverbank now, this side somewhat steeper than the bank they had just left. The flooding on this side had not been as severe and some paces away the smaller elf had discovered hoof prints. Raniean moved quickly to catch up to his friend, and leaned down to see, and the two sentinels looked at one another, puzzled.

Two sets of hoof prints, surely but instead of to the north, they traveled away to the west, following the river.

"This leads _away_ from Talathfen, according to Erestor's directions." Raniean stated the obvious, a deep frown marring the fair elven features. "These may be other riders…"

"There are no such signs in the mud heading north." Trelan pointed out, gesturing back to the general area where they had crossed over, where the rest of the cadre was riding up the riverbank. "These are the only prints visible. They _had_ to have come through here."

"Perhaps…" Raniean exhaled softly. He uncurled the fingers of his right hand, still clutching the near-shattered arrow. "We lose little by following the tracks apace. If we do not come upon them or a sign of them we may yet turn to the north and travel on to the Dúnedain." Tightening his grasp upon the arrow once again, the blonde sentinel straightened up and called to his horse with a soft whistle.

Trelan's horse also approached, but instead of mounting the animal, he continued to walk a little ahead, knowing that Raniean would await the last of the cadre to cross the river before following. The horse followed languidly after his rider, content to be close by and even to take another mouthful of grass here and there. A prickle of warning swept up his spine, a whisper from nearby trees, and he listened.

"They _did_ come this way." He pronounced suddenly, a certainty in his tone that surprised himself as much as Ran. "Come…we must hurry." Trelan did mount his horse now, and the entire cadre headed off westward, down stream, a fresh urgency in their pursuit. Raniean could see the tension in his friend and it rippled through him too.

The trees along the river were dismayed. Something was wrong…desperately wrong.

* * *

Elladan paced quietly along the side of the room, his arms folded anxiously across his chest. Elrohir was sitting silently by the fire, as if chilled although that was not strictly the case. It was a chill in his heart rather than any physical affliction.

Elrond had remained in the healing trance for far longer than Elladan would have expected, soft Elvish tumbling from his lips in half-whispers, his hand remaining upon his mortal son's forehead. When at last the Elf Lord opened his eyes and returned to the world, with no further sign of life from Estel, Elladan felt his heart begin to race.

"Ada?" He whispered; the softness of his voice still loud enough in the room's silence to startle Elrohir, who also looked up. Elrond drew in a slow, shaky breath, his hand leaving Aragorn's forehead and coming to his own, covering his eyes and the tears that threatened to spill over. Instantly both twins were at his side, Elladan placing his hand upon his father's shoulder.

"I am prevented from reaching him." Elrond finally said, quietly. "It is holding me at bay."

"Estel did not hear you at all?" Elrohir could not disguise the fear that crept into his voice. "What is it? He's…he's not resisting you, is he?" There was another moment's silence, and Elladan stepped aside, retrieving some miruvor that Erestor had brought up some little while earlier during Elrond's long healing trance.

"Here, Ada, please." The older twin pressed a goblet of the strengthening cordial into Elrond's hand. The Elf Lord smiled wanly at his son before gratefully taking a sip of the miruvor.

"Hannon le." Elrond drew in a slow breath, sipped a bit more of the miruvor, and then gazed at Elrohir tenderly. "No, Estel is not resisting. I do not know what it is, ion nín. It is though a thick, heavy blackness veils him from my sight…I could not break through it. I do not know if Estel is able to hear me; if he is, he is unable to respond."

"Is he fading, Ada?" Elladan finally asked outright, needing to know the truth of it. Elrond's brief silence as he dropped his gaze ever so briefly to the goblet in his hand spoke more than actual words could have, and a choked gasp slipped from Elrohir. Elladan, recalling Erestor's words, slipped behind his twin and gripped Elrohir's shoulders, the firm yet gentle point of contact calming his brother somewhat.

"Yes, Elladan." Elrond's own voice was close to breaking, now and he fought to still shaking hands, even as he turned his gaze toward the pale face of his mortal son. "He is." There were several moments of shocked silence between the twins before Elrond elaborated. "I sensed…despair, a pain driving into him, nearly like a blade striking flesh. From that wound, it is spreading maliciously, as a poison does. Estel's spirit is strong; his will is strong but…" Elrond swallowed tightly, brushing his free hand affectionately against Aragorn's cheek.

"…but as with poison, it is tainting his spirit and stealing his strength." Elrohir finished, his voice hushed in worry. "Estel cannot resist."

"Not for much longer, I fear." Elrond confirmed quietly, looking from one twin to the other. "And more, I believe his human heritage has turned the burden of fading into true physical symptoms, including the fever and headaches he suffers." His fingers continued to stroke along his Estel's face, brushing dark hair aside.

Elladan considered his father's words. It made sense, as elves did not suffer physical illness and only knew such symptoms as a result of injury or poison. Most Firstborn whose spirits faded only bore the emotional pain that drove them to it. Estel, however, was not only the heir of Númenor, descended from Elros, but also was of the race of Men. Estel's distant relation to the Peredhil was overshadowed by his mortal blood, generations of mortal beings after Elros himself. While it was unheard of, at least in recent memory, for one of Númenorian descent to suffer the fading, it was reasonable that in such affliction Estel would exhibit physical distress as well.

Elrond felt the eyes of both his sons upon him, although his own gaze filled only with Estel, the fragile pallor, the stubborn but strained breathing, and the terrible pain he now knew was smothering the bright soul of his foster son. Impulsively he leaned down until his forehead touched that of his son's, his free hand cradling the dark head gently. It was a sight that very nearly broke both twins once more, and Elladan tightened his grip at Elrohir's shoulders just slightly.

"Thala, muindor." _Steady, brother_. Elladan whispered just slightly. Elrohir nodded, feeling his twin's resolve to be strong through Elladan's presence, in his voice and in his touch. Patting Elrohir's right shoulder lovingly, Elladan knelt beside their father. Elrohir stepped aside a bit, giving his brother more room. "Ada…"

Elrond straightened away from the motionless Aragorn, sad eyes finding those of his eldest son. His hand left the side of Estel's face and came up to caress along Elladan's high cheekbone. He started to set aside the miruvor, but Elladan gently placed his hand at his father's wrist, staying the motion. Elrond felt his breath catch in his throat and he simply stared down at the cordial in his hand as if it were an unknown thing to him.

"I do not know how much longer he may linger." Elrond felt as if Elladan's steady gaze pulled the words from him, even as his heart cried for them not to be true. "He hears a call none of us may. Even if Legolas discovers what befell him, it may not be enough to undo what has been done to him."

"Ada." Elladan started again, the idea that had come to him refusing to leave his mind. "If it is indeed acting as a poison acts…can it not be treated as a poison is treated?" A slight hope entered the twin's voice as he continued. "A poison is counteracted by antidote. Perhaps Estel's strength may be revived by finding a…an antidote of sorts for the pain he suffers within."

Elrohir looked at his brother as if Elladan was grasping at straws; in all his life, he had never known a soul to return from the fading if it did not wish it, no medicine that would soothe the wounded spirit back to health. Elrond, however, sipped slowly at the miruvor when Elladan nudged the goblet toward him once again, and the Elf Lord's expression was thoughtful.

"Thus far, we have treated the symptoms." Elrond noted, following Elladan's line of thinking aloud. "The wound itself has thus far been unseen, and therein our hope in Legolas remains, for _what_ pains his soul so I do not know."

"The Black Star." Elrohir finally spoke up, committing himself to this course of action as well. Perhaps this hope was more slender than a bowstring but he would not abandon it if it could mean Estel's life. "Whatever this evil is that Estel sees in his terrors…_that_ is what has captured him and torments him so."

Elrond looked at the younger twin now, pondering Elrohir's words just as he had considered Elladan's statement a moment ago.

"The question remains, then ion nín…Who or what is this Black Star and why does it trouble Estel?"

* * *

The hood slipped limply from slender fingertips to fall upon Miluiel's shoulders, and for a moment, an eerie silence hung suspended between them. Legolas exhaled slowly, sapphire eyes focused entirely upon the slim woman sitting next to him.

"You do not turn away." Miluiel's voice was soft, but underlain with tension. "Even I must turn away sometimes." She gestured fluidly toward the nearest mirror, before dropping her gaze away from the Silvan prince.

"What did they do to you?" Legolas finally found his voice. He had no doubt as he watched her, that he was observing the handiwork of orcs. When Miluiel dropped her gaze, he found a small bloom of anger rising within him at their cruelty.

"Much." She whispered softly, and as her honey blonde hair slid aside, Legolas saw the delicate upsweep of her left ear, answering his suspicion that Miluiel was indeed Elven. "Too much to tell you everything. They did this…" Her slender hand brushed very briefly along her cheekbone. "…with a heated blade."

"By the stars…" Legolas breathed out. Where there was a hint of her former beauty on the ageless left side of her face, the right side of the elleth's face had been horribly marred, including the ear on that side, which had been blunted like an orc's.

"Laeriel." She said softly, still not raising her head. "Eneth nín…Laeriel." _My name…Laeriel_.

"Iston sen eneth." _I know this name_. Legolas said wonderingly, struggling to focus his spinning vision upon this elleth who had suffered so much. "Laeriel…i pen estathar Glîrnathron?" _Laeriel…the one they named Song-Weaver_?

Laeriel lifted her pained gaze to him, and a single tear wound its way down the scarred flesh.

"You would have been too young to remember me, Legolas." She replied softly. "It has been many years since I lifted my voice in Lasgalen."

"You _do_ know me." Legolas insisted, something that he had felt at their first meeting when she had addressed him formally.

"I only met you once, caun neth." _Young prince_. "You were still a very small elfling. Aran Thranduil invited me to sing at the festivals. He said you were quite taken with my voice, which apparently since I was not your mother, was quite the compliment from you." Something that passed for a smile on her disfigured face appeared. "You were just learning how to walk."

Legolas watched Laeriel with some amazement, and if it didn't hurt so much, he might have shaken his head in disbelief. The Glîrnathron was something of a legend among the woodland elves, a voice like no other. It was a legend that he was not unaware of; his naneth had spoken of the old celebrations before the shadow had begun to take Lasgalen. She held the golden voice of the Song Weaver in reverence.

"It was said your voice was so enchanted that even the trees and the flowers responded to your singing." Legolas said softly.

"Perhaps that is too much credit, Legolas Thranduilion." Laeriel said softly, but her eyes still glistened as she looked away to the window. "But the willow that stands outside this room was dying when I arrived. I spent time with it every day as it was my only true company for many, many years."

"It was your pain it told me." Legolas' spoke with conviction. The nearby suffering the weeping willow had bemoaned to the Silvan prince had been the Singer's pain. No wonder! Laeriel had called it back to life. Slowly, only meaning to comfort, Legolas reached out and gently tipped her chin, bringing her gaze back to him once again. "It is my honor to make your acquaintance, Laeriel, also called the Singer. I too have suffered at the hands of the cursed creatures. You have nothing to fear from me; neither from my hand or my heart."

The sharp flinch from the slender elleth startled Legolas, and he was uncertain if it had been his words or his touch that startled her so. Drawing back hesitantly, the Silvan prince closed his eyes in a sharp wince. Instantly, he felt Laeriel's hands at his shoulders, persuading him to lie down.

"You need some patience, I think." Laeriel said softly, and without the hood to muffle it, her voice carried an inherent musical lilt as she spoke. "You're in no condition to be up."

Legolas could not help the sour look that graced his features; he was eager to shake off his injuries but it seemed the Valar had other plans for him in this place. He could only hope that the Valar would also see fit to keep Estel alive until those plans were complete. The archer was startled and very nearly annoyed when Laeriel actually _laughed_, albeit very lightly, at his scowl.

"You cannot seriously be amused at my predicament." He grumbled lightly, and Laeriel's voice quieted.

"Be assured, I am not, Thranduilion." She inclined her head in a show of respect. "Simply that your expression reminded me of something my naneth used to tell me about such frowns. She claimed that held long enough, such a look would freeze to my face and be there until the day I crossed the sea."

Surprisingly, Legolas' expression softened almost immediately, and he _almost_ smiled, which resulted in a lifting of honey blonde eyebrows above rather emerald green eyes.

"Naneth nín pêd nad sui sen enni." _My mother said things like this to me_. He satisfied her curiosity.

Laeriel froze for a moment, her expression difficult to read with the disfigurement but to Legolas it seemed to be almost a sort of shock that descended upon her.

"I've made some food." She regained her composure and rose to her feet. "I'll bring you some. In the meantime, just stay in bed for the time being, if you please. I don't need to find you on the floor again." Laeriel smiled faintly but she was quick, Legolas noted, to leave the room.

There was no more wondering how she had become so skittish and wounded. As he watched her slip from the room, he frowned slightly as he considered her marred face and all that she must have suffered at the hands of the cruel orcs that had burned her. However, a single burning curiosity about his unusual hostess remained.

How had Laeriel Glîrnathron, the most celebrated voice in all of Arda, ended up out here in the Northlands, parted from her people and damaged in soul?

* * *

Glorfindel was eager to set out again before sundown, even as Eólin was preparing the men who would be accompanying them to the east. Still he did not begrudge the boy Madred a few more moments around his parents' table, carefully sampling a little of the homebrewed mead that his host offered him while the boy plied him with questions. It wasn't the smooth, sweet taste of the elven vintages in Rivendell, but much like the Rangers themselves a more rugged sort of flavor. However, the offer was generous and kind; the blonde elf would not slight the Dúnadan's hospitality.

Madred, a naturally curious boy, asked questions about the Elven realms, Elves in general and Glorfindel in particular. He seemed particularly enamored of the balrog-slayer's ears and braids, forgetting his manners long enough to stare openly, but there was such innocence in the wide eyes that Glorfindel was actually quite amused. At last, after several moments the friendly conversation between elf and human child reached something of an awkward pause when the eight year old blurted out his foremost curiosity about elfkind.

"How old are you?" Madred asked earnestly.

"Madred!" His mother exclaimed, a light flush appearing on her features. "I apologize, Lord Glorfindel, for my son. His curiosity often carries him far beyond what is appropriate." She addressed her last comment more to Madred than to her guest, and contained a note of rebuke. Madred fidgeted slightly, understanding that he had earned his mother's disapproval, but he turned those yearning eyes toward Glorfindel.

"But, Eólin says that Elves are both aged and ageless. I don't understand…one can't be both things at the same time, can they?"

Glorfindel wasn't entirely certain; perhaps it was simply the warmth of the mead, perhaps it was the wide-eyed wonder of the child, but he found himself chuckling amusedly before Madred's mother could speak another rebuke.

"Your uncle speaks wisely, pen neth." _Young one_. The balrog-slayer paused slightly, before leaning down the child sitting beside him and whispered his years into the little boy's ear. Madred's eyes grew round at the tremendous number for one so young himself, and his awe of Glorfindel seemed to increase tenfold.

"_Really_?" He breathed out, and Glorfindel smiled warmly, and nodded slightly in affirmation. The child reminded him incredibly of Estel's curiosity at that age, and he felt a slight stab at his heart. He lifted a prayer to the Valar in his heart for Estel to remain alive.

"Do you now understand Eólin's words, Madred?" Glorfindel asked lightly, and the boy shook his head, drawing the blonde elf's amusement once again. "Do I _look_ as if I could be that many years in age?"

"Nooo…" Madred shook his head again, this time emphatically. "There aren't any wrinkles!" The boy was gazing studiously at Glorfindel's face now, and between soft chuckles, the elf took the opportunity to explain.

"As it is with all those who are Firstborn. We appear ageless, yet we carry with us lifetimes of memories, aged beyond generations of Men." Glorfindel held the boy's amazed stare. "That is how we are both, old and young, at the same time."

"Ohhh…" The boy nodded sagely now, understanding dawning on him. Then he grinned. "I will have to tell Eólin that I have had my first lesson from an Elf."

"What do you say for such a gift, Madred?"

Eólin himself stood in the doorway now, and his expression was also amused. It would seem that his nephew had endeared himself to Glorfindel also. Madred looked over at his uncle briefly before looking back at the tall elf sitting beside him.

"Hannon le, Hîr Glorfindel." Madred said, prompted by Eólin but also quite honestly, Glorfindel could see. "Hannon le an sen ant." _Thank you for this gift_.

"The gift was mine to give." Glorfindel replied seriously, but Eólin could see mirth in the balrog-slayer's eyes. "Glassen, mellon neth nín." _You're welcome, my young friend_. "Perhaps one day your uncle will bring you on a visit to Rivendell, and you can see all that I have described to you for yourself." Glorfindel took a final swallow of the homebrew in the mug he held, and then rose up from the table.

"Tend to your chores, Madred." His father said now, and the boy reluctantly rose as well. However, disobedience was likely to earn him a punishment sterner than his mother's rebukes, and so Madred knew his visit had come to an end. Inclining his head toward Glorfindel, he placed his hand over his heart and swept it outward, something he had learned from Eólin as well.

"I Belain ego erin i râd na le. Navaer, Hîr Glorfindel." _The Valar go on the path with you. Farewell, Lord Glorfindel_. With that, the boy scampered past his uncle in the doorway and hurried off to do his nightly chores.

"We are ready to depart, mellon nín." Eólin informed the tall elf. "The horses are ready and the men await you. Halbarad and his scouts have already started out for the river."

Glorfindel took a few more moments to thank Madred's parents for their hospitality and kindness, and then followed the young Ranger out into the early evening air. The sun was making its journey to the west, hanging low in the sky but not yet tinting the clouds with color. In the lengthening shadows of homes, several Rangers had mounted upon sturdy horses, and Glorfindel's own mount had been prepared and seemed eager to be on the way. The two latecomers mounted their steeds and the gates were thrown open.

Thundering through the gates, and turning aside from the relative safety of Talathfen, the sun at their backs and the shadows growing ahead, the party of Men and Elf rode on for the east. _Elbereth…_Glorfindel thought to himself as they cleared the gates. _Hear the boy's prayer and go before us. Help us to aid Estel_.

* * *

Trelan hunched forward miserably on his horse, gathering his cloak around him, shivering although the day had been quite warm, and Elves did not suffer the cold as other races. Two more arrows, found fairly buried in mud further downstream had not aided his fears and the trembling was born of sheer anxiety. Just a pace or two behind on his horse, Raniean watched his friend almost as closely as he watched for signs of their prince and Lord Elrond's seneschal.

"Sîdh, Trey." _Peace, Trey_. He said very softly, just barely loud enough for Trelan to hear, and no one else. "They could not have gone much farther in this direction."

"It is almost as if they sought something." Trelan agreed absently, his eyes still on the two sets of hoof prints that followed the riverbank, intent on the task at hand despite his mounting worry.

As soon as the words left his lips, Trelan pulled up sharply, bidding his horse to stop, so abruptly in fact that Raniean nearly ran his own steed into the halted animal.

"What was that for…?" Ran exclaimed, and then stopped as he saw what had the smaller elf's attention. The prints turned away from the river, and started up the slope away from the riverbed. "They must have passed the night on higher ground." Raniean mused, dismounting to kneel down and inspect the tracks more closely. A slight frown crossed his features as his hand passed over one hardened set of tracks.

Forgetting his trembling, Trelan slipped down from his horse and bent over the drying mud.

"What do you see?" He wanted to know. Raniean paused before answering, pointing out the sets of tracks as he did.

"One of these horses was riderless." He said with certainty. "See how these hooves sank deeper into the mud than the others? And the same horse travels steadily westward, while the other stops and pauses for grass, and meanders behind." Raniean frowned slightly, peering at the indentations in the ground. "I can't believe I missed it before."

"But I see no evidence of travel by foot." Trelan said, looking around intently for any sort of indication that one of the two elves they sought had dismounted his horse and carried on upon his own two feet. Even Elves might leave such signs behind, light of foot and stealthy as they could be, if one knew what to look for.

"Raniean!" One of the other elves in their cadre dared to call out, and both Raniean and Trelan bolted upright. The elf had ridden some distance apart from them, some yards downriver, and the pair of sentinels rushed to join him. Trelan's eyes widened and he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

* * *

The room had gone silent again; the careful watch over Estel continuing as the sun began to set, throwing the western horizon into a riot of scarlet and purple. Elrond had not yet moved from his youngest's side, and not even Erestor would have been bold enough to ask him to do so.

Elladan had taken up his place at Estel's other side, the elder twin holding the motionless hand between both of his own, speaking to Estel of memories past; pranks played on Glorfindel or Erestor, archery lessons that had not quite gone as planned, Estel's first winter in Imladris. The memories seemed to tumble out one after another, and Elrond did not have the heart to stop him.

Especially, since Estel's unnatural stillness seemed to have…eased, somehow. His breathing had slowed but it had the quality of simple rest about it. Perhaps his son had gained another respite from the pain; Elrond could not believe the battle to be so easy.

Elrohir had not been able to stay still. He had alternated sitting with his mortal brother, to sitting before the fire, to pacing along the far side of the room and now his disquiet had driven the younger twin to the balcony. Elrond could not find it in him to stay his son's restless anxiety as he felt it keenly himself.

For long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and Elladan's voice, quietly retelling some humorous story involving the twins, Erestor and…a snake. Elrond suppressed a smile; his old friend and advisor was not fond of the reptiles. All attention however temporarily diverted from Estel when Elrohir sucked in a startled, shuddering—and pained—gasp.

Elrond was instantly on his feet, his father's heart instinctively understanding that his son was hurting. Quickly the Elf Lord moved out onto the balcony, reaching for Elrohir, who was literally shaking where he stood.

"Elrohir…" He began softly, placing his hand upon the younger twin's arm, but then he stopped dead in his tracks as he realized what had prompted Elrohir's distress. Down below in the courtyard, thirstily drinking out of the center fountain was a horse, riderless and bearing only what appeared to be a courier's pouch slung around its neck, lathered and apparently having come at great speed. Recognition dawned on the Elf Lord and his hand fell from his son's shoulder, grasping the balcony rail tightly, until his knuckles turned quite white.

Lospód.


End file.
